THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


THE   THIRD  VOLUME 


THE   THIRD  VOLUME 


BY 

FERGUS  HUME 

Author  of  "  The  Lone  Inn,"  "  The  Mystery  of  a  Hansom  Cab," 
"  The  Chinese  Jar,"  Etc. 


NEW  YORK 

THE    CASSELL    PUBLISHING    CO. 

31  East  17TH  Street  (Union  Square) 


Copyright,  1894,  by 
FERGUS  HUME, 


Copyright,  1895,  by 
THE  CASSELL  PUBLISHING  CO. 


All  rights  reserved. 


THE  MERSHON   COMPANY   PRESS, 
RAHWAY,    N.   J. 


HJ?0 


Oh,  mothers,  wisely  sang  ye, 
When  oft  we  went  astray, 

"  Ye  weave  the  ropes  to  hang  ye, 
Ye  forge  the  swords  to  slay." 

The  ropes  we  wove  so  gladly. 
Have  robbed  us  of  our  breath, 

The  swords  we  forged  so  madly, 
Have  smitten  us  to  death. 


1202461 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.     An  Old  Friend, i 

II.     A  Mysterious  Communication,         ...  lo 

III.  The  Revelation  of  Francis  Hilliston,     .        .  19 

IV.  What  Occurred  at  Horriston,      ...  27 
V.    A  Strange  Coincidence 37 

VI.    Truth  is  Stranger  than  Fiction,          .        .  45 

VII.     "  Let  Sleeping  Dogs  Lie,"           •         •         ■  52 

VIII.     Both  Sides  of  the  Question,           ...  61 

IX.     Mrs.  Bezel, 67 

X.     A  Few  Facts  Connected  with  the  Case,  78 

XI.    A  Startling  Discovery, 86 

XII,     Revelations, 94 

XIII.  On  the  Track, .  102 

XIV.  The  Upper  Bohemia,         .         .         .         .         •  109 
XV.    A  Popular  Author, "7 

XVI.     A  False  Move, "4 

XVII.     The  Husband  at  Kensington  Gore,   .         .  131 

XVIII.     A  Duel  of  Words, 138 

XIX.     Tait  Brings  News, I47 

XX.     A  Precis  of  the  Case,      .        .                •        •  ^54 

XXI.     Thorston, 160 

XXII.     In  the  Church, ^68 

XXIII.     Fact  and  Fiction, *75 

iii 


IV 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXIV.  A  New  Suspicion, 182 

XXV.  The  Recluse,        ......  192 

XXVI.  An  Old  Servant, 200 

XXVII.  A  Glimpse  of  the  Past,      ....  210 

XXVIII.  Preparing  the  Ground,          ,        .        .  220 

XXIX.  Kerry, 228 

XXX.  Mrs.  Bezel  Again, 235 

XXXI.  An  Evening  at  the  Vicarage,   ...  241 

XXXII.  The  Discoveries  of  Spenser  Tait,        .        .  249 

XXXIII.  The  Story  of  the  Mad  Gardener,           .  258 

XXXIV.  A  Letter  from  Horriston,    ...  268 
XXXV.  TftE  Original  of  the  Portrait,                .  275 

XXXVI,  A  Strange  Thing  Happens,            .        .        .  282 

XXXVII.  A  Voice  from  the  Dead,    ....  290 

XXXVIII.  A  New  Aspect  of  Things,      ....  299 

XXXIX.  The  Garnet  Scarfpin,         ....  306 

XL.  Face  to  Face, 314 

XLI.  An  E.xplanation, 321 

XLII.  The  Tragedy  of  a  Woman's  Vanity,    .         .  329 

XLIII.  The  Last  Appearance  of  Francis  Hilliston,  336 

XLIV.  The  Truth, 343 

XLV.  A  Few  Words  by  Spenser  Tait,    .        .        .351 


THE  THIRD  VOLUME. 


CHAPTER   I. 

AN    OLD    FRIEND. 

When  Spenser  Tait  took  his  seat  at  the  breakfast 
table,  he  cast  a  look  around,  according  to  custom,  to 
see  that  all  was  as  orderly  as  he  could  wish.  The 
neatest  and  most  methodical  of  men,  he  was  positively 
old  maidish  in  his  love  of  regularity  and  tidiness.  His 
valet,  Dormer, — with  him  for  over  fifteen  years, — had 
been  trained  by  such  long  service  into  the  particular 
ways  of  his  master,  and  was  almost  as  exacting  as  Tait 
himself  in  the  matter  of  domestic  details.  No  woman 
was  permitted  to  penetrate  into  those  chambers  in 
Earls  Street,  St.  James';  but  had  one  been  able  to  do 
so,  she  could  have  found  no  fault  with  them,  either  on 
the  score  of  taste  or  of  cleanliness.  The  shell  of  this 
hermit  crab  was  eloquent  of  the  idiosyncrasies  of  its 
tenant. 

The  main  characteristic  of  the  breakfast  room  was 
one  of  severe  simplicity.  The  carpet  of  green  drappled 
brown,  the  curtains  to  match,  and  the  furniture  of  oak, 
polished  and  dark.  On  the  white  cloth  of  the  table  an 
appetizing  breakfast  was  set  out  in  silver  nnd  china, 
and   a  vase   of  flowers  showed   that   the  little  gentle- 


2  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

man  was  not  unmindful  of  the  requirements  of  an 
artistic  temperament.  Even  the  Times,  carefully  cut 
and  warmed,  was  neatly  folded  by  the  silver  ringed 
napkin,  and  Dormer,  standing  stiff  and  lean  by  his  mas- 
ter's chair,  was  calmly  satisfied  that  no  fault  could  be 
found  with  his  work.  For  the  past  fifteen  years,  save 
on  occasions  of  foreign  travel,  the  same  etiquette  had 
been  observed,  the  same  actions  performed,  for,  like  the 
laws  of  the  Medes  and  Persians,  the  habits  of  Tait  were 
fixed  and  determined. 

He  was  a  pleasant  creature  of  thirty-four  years, 
small  in  stature,  clean-shaven  and  brown-locked.  His 
plump  little  body  was  clothed  in  a  well-brushed  smok- 
ing suit  of  maroon-colored  cloth,  his  neat  feet  encased 
in  slippers  of  red  morocco,  and  he  scanned  the  room 
through  a  gold-mounted  pince  nez.  Neat  and  firm  as 
he  was,  women  did  not  care  for  him  in  the  least,  and 
he  returned  the  compliment  by  heartily  disliking  the 
female  sex.  Yet  with  men  he  was  a  great  favorite, 
and  the  members  of  his  club  liked  to  hear  the  senten- 
tious speeches  of  this  little  man,  delivered  with  point 
and  deliberation  in  the  smoking  room  from  eleven  till 
midnight.  When  the  clock  struck  twelve  he  invariably 
went  to  bed,  and  no  persuasion  or  temptation  could 
induce  him  to  break  this  excellent  rule. 

Dormer,  a  tall,  thin  man  of  Kent,  who  adored  his 
precise  master,  was  equally  as  misogynistic  as  Tait, 
and  silent  on  all  occasions  save  when  spoken  to.  Then 
he  replied  in  dry  monosyllables,  and  stood  bolt  up- 
right during  such  replies,  in  a  military  fashion,  which 
he  had  picked  up  many  years  before  in  the  army. 
Tait  humored  his  oddities  on  account  of  his  fidelity, 
knowing    that    this    ugly,    rough-hewn    specimen    of 


AN  OLD  FRIEND.  3 

humanity  was  as  true  as  steel,  and  entirely  devoted 
to  his  interests.  Nowadays  it  is  unusual  to  meet  with 
such  equal  appreciation  between  master  and  servant. 

"I  think,  Dormer,"  said  Tait,  while  the  man  minis- 
tered to  his  wants,  "that  you  might  call  at  Mudie's 
this  morning  and  get  me  a  copy  of  the  new  novel,  '  A 
Whim  of  Fate,'  by  John  Parver.  I  heard  last  night 
that  it  contained  a  description  of  Thorston." 

''Very  good,  sir,"  replied  Dormer,  noting  the  name 
in  his  pocketbook. 

"And  take  a  seat  for  me  at  the  Curtain  Theater, 
in  the  fifth  row  of  the  stalls,  not  too  near  the  side." 

"  Anything  else,  sir  ?  " 

"I  think  not,"  said  his  master,  taking  a  morsel  of 
toast.  "  I  am  going  down  to  Richmond  by  the  twelve 
o'clock  train  to  luncheon  with  Mr.  Freak.  Lay  out 
the  serge  suit." 

Dormer  saluted  in  a  military  fashion,  and  disap- 
peared, leaving  Tait  to  skim  the  paper  and  finish  his 
breakfast.  Methodical  as  ever,  the  little  man  first 
read  the  leading  articles,  thence  passed  to  the  city 
news,  perused  the  general  information,  and  wound  up 
with  a  glance  at  the  advertisements.  In  such  order 
he  ever  proceeded,  and  never  by  any  chance  thought 
of  beginning  with  the  advertisements  and  working 
back  to  the  leading  article.  Habit  was  everything 
with   Spenser  Tait. 

As  usual,  his  day's  programme  was  carefully  sketched 
out,  and  he  knew  what  he  was  about  to  do  with  every 
moment  of  his  time  from  noon  till  midnight.  But  his 
plans  on  this  special  day  were  upset  at  the  outset,  for 
scarcely  had  he  lighted  his  morning  pipe  than  the  door 
was  thrown  open  and  a  visitor  was  announced. 


4  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

"Mr.  Larcher,"  said  Dormer  stiffly,  and  ushered  in 
a  tall  young  man  with  a  bright  face  and  a  breezy 
manner. 

"Hullo,  little  Tait!"  cried  the  newcomer,  hastily 
striding  across  the  room;  "here  I  am  again.  Come 
from  wandering  up  and  down  the  earth,  sir,  like  a 
certain  person  whom  I  need  not  mention." 

"Dear  me,"  said  Tait,  welcoming  his  guest  with 
prim  kindliness,  "  it  is  Claude  Larcher.  I  am  very  glad 
to  see  you,  my  dear  fellow,  and  rather  surprised;  for 
I  assure  you  I  thought  you  were  at  the  Antipodes." 

"I  have  just  returned  from  that  quarter  of  the 
globe.  Yes  !  Landed  at  the  docks  yesterday  from 
one  of  the  Shaw-Saville  line.  Had  a  capital  passage 
from  New  Zealand.  Sea  like  a  mill-pond  from  Wel- 
lington Heads  to  the  Lizard." 

"Have  you  had  breakfast,  Larcher?"  asked  Tait, 
touching  the  bell. 

"A  trifle!  A  trifle!  I  could  eat  another.  What 
have  you  ?  Bacon  and  eggs,  watercress,  coffee,  and 
the  best  of  bread  and  butter.  Egad,  Spenser,  you 
had  the  same  victuals  two  years  ago  when  I  last  called 
here!" 

"I  am  a  creature  of  habit,  Claude,"  replied  Tait 
sententiously;  and  when  Dormer  made  his  appearance 
gave  grave  directions  for  fresh  coffee  and  another  dish 
of  eggs  and  bacon. 

Larcher  drew  in  his  chair,  and  with  his  elbows  on 
the  table  eyed  the  little  man  with  friendly  eyes.  They 
were  old  schoolfellows  and  fast  friends,  though  a 
greater  contrast  than  that  which  existed  between  them 
can  scarcely  be  imagined.  Tait,  a  prim,  chilly  mis- 
ogynist;   Larcher,  a  hot-blocded,  impetuous  lover  of 


AN  OLD  FRIEND.  5 

women.  The  one  a  stay-at-home,  and  a  slave  to  habit; 
the  other  a  roaming  engineer,  careless  and  impulsive. 
Yet  by  some  vein  of  sympathy  the  pair,  so  unlike  in 
looks  and  temperament,  were  exceedingly  friendly, 
and  always  glad  to  meet  when  circumstance  threw 
them  together.  Such  friendship,  based  on  no  logical 
grounds,  was  a  standing  contradiction  to  the  rule  that 
like  draws  to  like. 

It  was  scarcely  to  be  expected  that  a  well-favored  mor- 
tal like  Larcher  should  share  his  friend's  distaste  for  the 
female  sex.  Far  from  disliking  them,  he  sought  them 
on  all  possible  occasions,  oftentimes  to  his  own  disad- 
vantage; and  was  generally  involved  in  some  scrape 
connected  with  a  petticoat.  Tait,  who  was  the  older 
of  the  two  by  five  years,  vainly  exhorted  and  warned 
his  friend  against  such  follies,  but  as  yet  his  arguments 
had  come  to  naught.  At  the  age  of  thirty,  Larcher 
was  still  as  inflammable,  and  answered  all  Tait's  expos- 
tulations with  a  laugh  of  scorn. 

It  was  easy  to  dower  this  hero  with  all  the  perfec- 
tions, physical  or  mental,  which  lie  within  the  scope  of 
imagination,  but  the  truth  must  be  told  at  whatever 
cost.  Claude  was  no  Greek  god,  no  prodigy  of  learn- 
ing, neither  an  Apollo  for  looks,  nor  an  Admirable 
Crichton  for  knowledge;  he  was  simply  a  well-looking 
young  man,  clean-limbed,  clear-skinned,  healthy,  ath- 
letic, and  dauntless,  such  as  can  be  found  by  the  dozen 
in  England.  Thews  and  sinews  he  had,  but  was  no 
Samson  or  Hercules,  yet  his  strong  frame  and  easy 
grace  won  the  heart  of  many  a  woman,  while  with  his 
own  sex  he  passed  for  a  true  comrade,  and  a  friend 
worth  having. 

He  was  an  engineer,  and  built  bridges  and  railways 


6  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

in  divers  quarters  of  the  globe,  pioneering  civilization, 
as  it  were,  in  the  most  barbarous  regions. 

For  the  past  ten  years  he  had  roamed  all  over  the 
world,  and  his  adventures,  begotten  by  a  daring  and 
reckless  spirit,  were  already  sufficient  to  fill  a  volume. 
Master  of  at  least  half  a  dozen  tongues,  he  could  find 
his  way  from  the  tropics  to  the  pole,  and  was  equally 
at  home  on  the  prairie  as  in  Piccadilly.  Indeed,  he 
preferred  the  former,  for  civilization  was  little  to  his 
taste,  and  he  was  infinitely  more  at  ease  in  Pekin  than 
London.  North  and  South  America,  Africa,  China, 
India,  he  knew  them  all,  and  on  this  occasion  had 
returned  from  a  prolonged  sojourn  in  the  Antipodes, 
where  he  had  been  building  bridges  across  rapid  New 
Zealand  rivers. 

''Well,  my  friend,"  said  he,  addressing  himself  to 
a  second  meal  with  a  hearty  appetite,  ''  I  need  not 
ask  how  you  are.  The  same  prim,  finnicking  Iktle 
mortal  as  ever,  I  see.  Five  years  have  made  no 
difference  in  you,  Spenser.  You've  not  married,  I 
suppose  ? " 

''Not  I,"  returned  Tait,  with  stormy  disgust. 
"You  know  my  views  on  the  subject  of  matrimony. 
You  might  go  away  for  one  hundred  years  and  would 
return  to  find  me  still  a  bachelor.  But  you, 
Claude " 

"  Oh,  I'm  still  in  the  market.  I  wasn't  rich  enough 
for  the  New  Zealand  belles." 

"Eh!  You  have  five  hundred  a  year,  independent 
of  your  earnings  as  an  engineer." 

"  What  is  the  use  of  setting  up  house  on  a  thousand 
a  year  all  told,"  retorted  Claude  coolly;  "but  the  fact 
is,  despite  my  inflammability,  which  you  are  pleased  to 


AN  OLD  FRIEND.  ^ 

reproach,  I  have  not  yet  seen  the  woman  I  care  to  make 
Mrs.  Larcher. " 

"  Perhaps  it  is  just  as  well  for  the  woman,"  answered 
Tait  dryly.  "I  don't  think  you  are  cut  out  for  a 
domestic  life." 

''  I  have  had  no  experience  of  it,  so  I  can't  say,"  said 
Larcher,  a  shade  passing  over  his  face.  "You  must 
not  forget  that  I  was  left  an  orphan  at  five  years  of 
age,  Tait.  If  it  had  not  been  for  old  Hilliston,  the 
lawyer,  who  looked  after  me  and  my  small  fortune,  I 
don't  know  what  would  have  become  of  me.  All 
things  considering,  I  think  I  have  turned  out  fairly 
decent.  I  have  worked  hard  at  my  profession,  I  have 
not  spent  my  substance  in  riotous  living,  and  have 
seen  much  more  of  life  than  most  young  men.  All  of 
which  is  self-praise,  and  that  we  know  being  no  recom- 
mendation, give  me  another  cup  of  coffee." 

Tait  laughed  and  obeyed.  "  What  are  you  going  to 
do  now?  "  he  demanded,  after  a  pause;  "  stay  in  town, 
or  make  another  dash  for  the  wilds  ?  " 

"  I'll  be  here  for  a  few  months,  till  something  turns 
up,"  said  Larcher  carelessly.  "  I  did  very  well  out  of 
that  Maori  land  business,  and  bought  some  land  there 
with  the  proceeds.  I  suppose  I'll  go  and  look  up  Mr. 
Hilliston,  see  all  the  theaters,  worry  you,  and  hunt  for 
a  wife." 

"I  shan't  assist  you  in  the  last,"  retorted  Tait, 
testily.  "However,  as  you  are  here  you  must  stay 
with  me  for  the  day.  What  are  your  immediate 
plans?" 

"Oh,  I  wish  to  call  at  the  club  and  see  if  there  are 
any  letters!  Then  lam  at  your  disposal,  unless  you 
have  a  prior  engagement." 


8  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

"I  have  a  luncheon  at  Richmond,  but  I'll  put 
that  off.  It  is  not  very  important,  and  a  wire  will 
arrange  matters.  Finish  your  breakfast  while  I 
dress." 

'<  Go,  you  effete  dandy  of  an  exhausted  civilization. 
I  saw  you  looking  at  my  rig-out,  and  I  dare  say  it  is 
very  bad.  It  has  been  packed  away  for  the  last  five 
years.  However,  you  can  take  me  to  your  tailor  and 
I'll  get  a  fresh  outfit.  You  won't  walk  down  Bond 
Street  with  me  unless  I  assume  a  tall  hat,  patent  leathers, 
and  a  frock  coat." 

"Oh,  by  the  way,  would  you  like  to  go  to  the 
Curtain  Theater  to-night?"  asked  Tait,  vouchsafing 
no  reply  to  this  speech.  "  They  are  playing  a  good 
piece,  and  I  sent  for  a  seat  for  myself." 

"You  selfish  little  man;  just  send  for  two  while 
you're  about  it." 

"With  pleasure,"  replied  Tait,  who  permitted  Lar- 
cher  more  freedom  of  speech  than  he  did  any  other 
of  his  friends.  "I  won't  be  more  than  ten  minutes 
dressing." 

"  Very  good !  I'll  smoke  a  pipe  during  your  absence, 
and  see  with  what  further  fribbles  you  have  adorned 
your  rooms.  Then  we'll  go  to  the  club,  and  afterward 
to  the  tailor's.  I  don't  suppose  my  letters  will  detain 
me  long." 

In  this  Larcher  was  wrong,  for  his  letters  detained 
him  longer  than  he  expected.  This  opened  the  way  to 
a  new  course  of  life,  of  which  at  that  moment  he  knew 
nothing.  Laughing  and  jesting  in  his  friend's  rooms, 
heart-whole  and  untrammeled,  he  little  knew  what 
Fortune  had  in  store  for  him  on  that  fateful  morning. 
It  is  just  as  well  that  the  future  is  hidden  from  men, 


AN   OLD  FRIEND.  9 

else  they  would  hardly  go  forward  with  so  light  a 
step  to  face  juries.  Hitherto  Larcher's  life  had  been 
all  sunshine,  but  now  darknesses  were  rising  above 
the  horizon,  and  these  letters,  to  which  he  so  lightly 
alluded,  were  the  first  warnings  of  the  coming 
storm. 


CHAPTER    II. 

A    MYSTERIOUS    COMMUNICATION. 

The  Athenian  Club  was  the  most  up-to-date  thing 
of  its  kind  in  London.  Although  it  had  been  estab- 
lished over  eight  years  it  was  as  new  as  on  the  day  of 
its  creation,  and  not  only  kept  abreast  of  the  times, 
but  in  many  instances  went  ahead  of  them.  The 
Athenians  of  old  time  were  always  crying  out  for 
something  new;  and  their  prototypes  of  London,  fol- 
lowing in  their  footsteps,  formed  a  body  of  men  who 
were  ever  on  the  look-out  for  novelty.  Hence  the 
name  of  this  club,  which  adopted  for  its  motto  the 
classic  cry,  "Give  us  something  new,"  and  acted  well 
up  to  the  saying.  The  Athenian  Club  was  the  pioneer 
of  everything. 

It  would  take  a  long  time  to  recount  the  vagaries 
for  which  this  coterie  had  been  responsible.  If  one 
more  daring  spirit  than  the  rest  invented  a  new  thing 
or  reinstated  on  old  one,  his  fellows  followed  like  a 
flock  of  intelligent  sheep  and  wore  the  subject  thread- 
bare, till  some  more  startling  theory  initiated  a  new 
movement.  The  opinion  of  the  club  took  its  color 
from  the  prevailing  "fad"  of  the  hour,  and  indeed 
many  of  the  aforesaid  "  fads  "  were  invented  in  its 
smoke  room.  It  should  have  been  called  "The  Ephem- 
eral Club,"  from  the  rapidity  with  which  its  fanciers 
rose  to  popularity  and  vanished  into  obscurity. 


A   MYSTERIOUS   COMMUNICATION.  1 1 

After  all,  such  incessant  novelty  is  rather  fatiguing. 
London  is  the  most  exhausting  city  in  the  world  in 
which  to  live.  From  all  quarters  of  the  globe  news  is 
pouring  in,  every  street  is  crowded  with  life  and  move- 
ment; the  latest  ideas  of  civilization  here  ripen  to  com- 
pletion. It  is  impossible  to  escape  from  the  contagion 
of  novelty;  it  is  in  the  air.  Information  salutes  one 
at  every  turn;  it  pours  from  the  mouths  of  men;  it 
thrusts  itself  before  the  eye  in  countless  daily  and 
weekly  newspapers;  it  clicks  from  every  telegraph  wire, 
until  the  brain  is  wearied  with  the  flood  of  ephemeral 
knowledge.  All  this  plethora  of  intellectual  life  was  con- 
centrated in  the  narrow  confines  of  the  Athenian  Club 
House.     No  wonder  its  members  complained  of  news. 

"What  is  the  prevailing  passion  with  the  Athenian 
at  present  ? "  asked  Larcher  as  he  stepped  briskly 
along  Piccadilly  beside  Tait 

"The  New  Literature  !  " 

"What  is  that?" 

"  Upon  my  word,  I  can  hardly  tell  you,"  replied  Tait, 
after  some  cogitation.  "  It  is  a  kind  of  impressionist 
school,  I  fancy.  Those  who  profess  to  lead  it  insist 
upon  works  having  no  plot,  and  no  action,  or  no  dra- 
matic situations.  Their  idea  of  a  work  is  for  a  man  and 
woman — both  vaguely  denominated  '  he  '  and  'she' — 
to  talk  to  one  another  through  a  few  hundred  pages. 
Good  Lord,  how  they  do  talk,  and  all  about  their  own 
feelings,  their  own  woes,  their  own  troubles,  their  own 
infernal  egotisms!  The  motto  of  'The  New  Litera- 
ture '  should  be  'Talk!  talk!  talk!'  for  it  consists  of 
nothing  else." 

"Why  not  adopt  Hamlet's  recitation,"  suggested 
Larcher  laughingly,  "  '  Words!  words!  words!  '  " 


12  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

"Oh,  'The  New  Literature '  wants  nothing  from 
the  past!  Not  even  a  quotation,"  said  Tait  tartly. 
"  Woman — the  new  woman — is  greatly  to  the  fore  in 
this  latest  fancy.  She  writes  about  neurotic  members 
of  her  own  sex,  and  calls  men  bad  names  every  other 
page.  The  subjects  mostly  discussed  in  the  modern 
novel  by  the  modern  woman,  are  the  regeneration  of 
the  world  by  woman,  the  failure  of  the  male  to  bridle 
his  appetites,  and  the  beginning  of  the  millennium 
which  will  come  when  women  get  their  own  way." 

*  Haven't  they  got  their  own  way  now  ?  " 

"  I  should  think  so.  I  don't  know  what  further 
freedom  they  want.  We  live  in  a  world  of  petticoats 
nowadays.  Women  pervade  everything  like  microbes. 
And  they  are  such  worrying  creatures,"  pursued  Tait 
plaintively,  "they  don't  take  things  calmly  like  men 
do,  but  talk  and  rage  and  go  into  hysterics  every  other 
minute.  If  this  sort  of  thing  goes  on  I  shall  retire 
with  Dormer  to  an  uninhabited  island." 

"It  is  easily  seen  that  you  are  not  a  friend  to  the 
new  movement,"  said  Larcher,  with  a  smile,  "  but  here 
we  are.  Wait  in  the  smoke  room,  like  a  good  fellow, 
while  I  see  after  my  correspondence." 

"You  will  find  me  in  the  writing  room, "  replied 
Tait.  "  I  have  lost  my  morning  pipe,  and  do  not 
intend  to  smoke  any  more  till  after  luncheon." 

"  I  don't  believe  you're  a  man,  Tait,  but  a  clock- 
work figure  wound  up  to  act  in  the  same  manner  at  the 
same  moment.  And  you  are  such  a  horribly  vulgar 
piece  of  mechanism." 

Tait  laughed,  gratified  by  this  tribute  to  his  methodi- 
cal habits,  so,  leaving  Larcher  to  see  after  his  letters, 
he  vanished  into  the  writing  room.     Here  he  wrote  an 


A   MYSTERIOUS   COMMUNICATION.  1 3 

apologetic  telegram  to  his  friend  Freak,  and  sent  it  off 
so  that  it  might  reach  that  gentleman  before  he  started 
for  Richmond.  Then  he  scribbled  a  few  notes  on 
various  trifling  matters  of  business  which  called  for 
immediate  attention,  and  having  thus  disposed  of  his 
cares,  ensconced  himself  in  a  comfortable  armchair  to 
wait  for  Claude. 

In  a  few  minutes  Larcher  made  his  appearance  with 
a  puzzled  expression  on  his  face,  and  two  open  letters 
in  his  hand.  Taking  a  seat  close  to  that  of  Tait,  he  at 
once  began  to  explain  that  the  news  contained  in  the 
letters  was  the  cause  of  the  expression  aforesaid. 

"  My  other  letters  are  nothing  to  speak  of,"  said  he, 
when  seated,  "but  these  two  fairly  puzzle  me.  Num- 
ber one  is  from  Mr.  Hilliston,  asking  me  to  call;  the 
other  is  from  a  Margaret  Bezel,  with  a  similar  request. 
Now  I  know  Mr.  Hilliston  as  guardian,  lawyer,  and 
banker,  but  who  is  Margaret  Bezel  ?  " 

Tait  shook  his  wise  little  head.  Well-informed  as  he 
was  in  several  matters,  he  had  never  heard  of  Mar- 
garet Bezel. 

*'  She  lives  at  Hampstead,  I  see,"  continued  Claude, 
referring  to  the  letter.  "Clarence  Cottage,  Hunt 
Lane.  That  is  somewhere  in  the  vicinity  of  Jack 
Straw's  Castle.  I  wonder  who  she  is,  and  why  she 
wants  to  see  me." 

"You  have  never  heard  of  her?"  asked  Tait 
dubiously.  He  was  never  quite  satisfied  with  Larcher's 
connections  with  the  weaker  sex. 

"Certainly  not,"  replied  the  other,  with  some  heat. 
"  If  I  had  I  would  assuredly  remember  so  odd  a  name. 
Bezel!  Bezel!  Something  to  do  with  a  ring,  isn't 
it  ?" 


14  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

*'It  might  have  something  to  do  with  a  wedding 
ring,"  said  Tait,  with  a  grim  smile.  "The  lady  may- 
have  matrimonial  designs  on  you." 

"  Bah  !  She  may  be  a  washerwoman  for  all  you 
know,  or  a  wife,  or  a  widow,  or  Heaven  only  knows 
what.     But  that  is  not  the  queerest  part  of  the  affair, 

for  Mr.  Hilliston But  here,  read  the  lady's  letter 

first,  the  gentleman's  next,  and  tell  me  what  you  think 
of  them.  Upon  my  word,  I  can  make  neither  top  nor 
tail  of  the  business!  " 


( The  First  Letter. ) 

"April  i8,  1892. 
'*  Dear  Sir:  Will  you  be  so  kind  as  to  call  and  see 
me  at  Clarence  Cottage,  Hunt  Lane,   Hampstead,  as  I 
have  an    important   communication    to    make   to   you 
regarding  your  parents. 

"Yours  truly, 

"  Margaret  Bezel.  " 

{^The  Second  Letter.) 

"Lincoln's  Inn  Fields,  June  10,  1892. 
"Dear  Claude:  Call  and  see  me  here  qs  soon  as 
you  arrive  in  town,  and  should  you  receive  a  communi- 
cation from  one  Margaret  Bezel,  bring  it  with  you. 
On  no  account  see  the  lady  before  you  have  an  inter- 
view with  me.  This  matter  is  more  important  than 
you  know  of,  and  will  be  duly  explained  by  me  when 
you  call. 

"  Yours  sincerely, 

"Francis  Hilliston." 


A    MYSTERIOUS  COMMUNICATION.  IS 

Tait  read  these  two  letters  carefully,  pinched  his 
chin  reflectively,  and  looked  at  Claude  in  a  rather 
anxious  manner. 

"Well,  sir,"  said  the  latter  impatiently,  "what  is 
your  opinion  ? " 

Tait's  opinion  was  given  in  one  word,  and  that  not 
of  the  nicest  meaning. 

"Blackmail." 

"  Blackmail  !  "  repeated  Larcher,  taken  aback,  as 
well  he  might  be.      "  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"I  may  be  wrong,"  said  Tait  apologetically,  "but 
this  is  the  only  conclusion  to  which  I  can  come.  I 
read  the  matter  this  way:  Margaret  Bezel  knows 
something  about  your  parents,  and  wishes  to  reveal  it 
to  you,  possibly  on  condition  that  you  pay  her  a  sum 
of  money.  Hilliston  evidently  knows  that  such  is 
her  intention,  and  wishes  to  put  you  on  your  guard. 
Hence  he  asks  you  to  see  him  before  you  accept  the 
invitation  of  the  lady." 

"H'm!  This  is  feasible  enough.  But  what  possible 
communication  can  this  woman  be  likely  to  make  to 
me  which  would  involve  blackmail.  My  parents  both 
died  when  I  was  four  years  of  age.  She  can't  have  any 
evil  to  say  of  them  after  twenty-five  years." 

"You  must  question  Hilliston  as  to  that,"  replied 
Tait,  shrugging  his  shoulders.  "  I  think  you  ought 
to  see  him  this  afternoon.  He  knows  you  are  in  town. 
I  suppose  ?  " 

"I  wrote  from  Wellington  to  tell  him  that  I  was 
returning  in  the  Kailargatin,"  said  Claude,  glancing  at 
the  letter.  "He  must  have  been  informed  by  the 
paper  of  her  arrival  yesterday,  for  this  note  is  dated 
the  same  day.     To-day  is  the  eleventh." 


1 6  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

"But  surely  Hilliston  knew  you  would  call  as  soon 
as  you  arrived  ? " 

"He  might  be  certain  that  I  would  do  so  within  the 
week,  at  all  events,"  answered  Larcher  reflectively. 
"That  is  what  makes  his  letter  the  more  puzzling. 
The  matter  must  be  very  urgent  when  he  demands  an 
immediate  interview." 

"lam  certain  he  wishes  to  forestall  this  lady,"  said 
Tait,  picking  up  the  letter  of  Margaret  Bezel.  "She, 
at  all  events,  knows  nothing  of  your  movements,  for 
the  note  is  dated  the  loth  of  April,  when  you  were  in 
New  Zealand." 

"Humph!     It  is  very  odd,  Tait." 

"  It  is  extremely  odd,  and  too  important  to  be 
neglected.  Call  on  Mr.  Hilliston  this  afternoon,  and 
send  him  a  wire  now  to  make  an  appointment." 

"  I  hope  I  am  not  going  to  have  a  bad  quarter  of  an 
hour,"  observed  Claude,  as  he  wrote  out  the  telegram. 
The  mystery  of  the  matter  rufiled  his  usual  serenity. 

"I  sincerely  trust  you  are  not,"  replied  the  other, 
touching  the  bell  for  the  waiter;  "but  I  must  say  I  do 
not  like  the  look  of  those  two  epistles." 

The  telegram  was  duly  dispatched,  and  after  a  few 
more  conjectures  as  to  the  motive  of  the  communica- 
tions, Larcher  went  upstairs  to  luncheon  with  his 
friend.  Halfway  through  the  meal  he  was  struck  with 
an  idea. 

"Margaret  Bezel  must  be  old,  Tait." 

"  How  do  you  know  ?  " 

"If  she  knows  anything  of  my  parents  she  must 
have  been  their  friend  or  servant,  and  as  they  died 
twenty-five  years  ago  she  can  be  no  chicken." 

"True  enough!     But   don't   go  out  and  meet  your 


A   MYSTERIOUS  COMMUNICATION.  17 

troubles  halfway,  Claude.  It  will  be  time  enough  to 
worry  should  Hilliston  give  you  bad  news.  By  the 
way,  I  suppose  you'll  stay  with  him  to-night  ?  " 

"  No  doubt.  He  has  bought  a  new  house  in  Ken- 
sington Gore,  and  wishes  me  to  have  a  look  at  it.  I 
shall  be  glad  to  see  his  wife  again.  Dear  old  lady,  she 
has  been  a  second  mother  to  me,  and  he  like  a  father." 

"And  I  like  a  brother,"  interposed  Tait,  laughing. 
"As  a  lonely  orphan  you  have  to  depend  upon  public 
charity  for  your  relatives.  But  talking  about  new 
houses,  you  must  see  mine." 

"What!     Are  you  a  householder  ?  " 

"  A  householder,  not  a  landed  proprietor,"  said  Tait, 
with  pride.  "I  have  purchased  an  old  Manor  House 
and  a  few  acres  at  Thorston,  about  eight  miles  from 
Eastbourne.  You  must  come  down  and  see  it.  I  have 
just  had  it  furnished  and  put  in  order.  A  week  or  so 
there  will  do  you  good,  and  give  me  much  pleasure." 

"  I  shall  be  delighted  to  come,"  said  Larcher  hastily, 
"that  is,  if  there  is  no  troublesome  business  to  detain 
me  in  London." 

"Well,  you  will  know  shortly.  After  all,  Hilliston 
may  give  you  good  news,  instead  of  bad." 

"  Bah!     You  don't  believe  that,  Tait." 

"I  don't  indeed!     But  I  am  trying  to  comfort  you." 

"After  the  fashion  of  Job's  friends,"  retorted  Claude 
promptly.  "Well,  you  may  be  right,  for  I  do  not  like 
the  look  of  things  myself.  However,  I  must  take  bad 
fortune  along  with  good.  Hitherto  all  has  gone  well 
with  me,  and  I  sincerely  trust  this  letter  from  Margaret 
Bezel  is  not  a  forerunner  of  trouble." 

"Should  it  be  so,  you  will  always  have  at  least  one 
friend  to  stand  by  you." 


1 8  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

**  Thank  5^011,  Tait,"  replied  Larcher,  grasping  the 
outstretched  hand.  '■'■  Should  the  time  come  for  test- 
ing your  friendship,  I  shall  have  no  hesitation  in  put- 
ting it  to  the  proof.  And  the  time  is  coming,"  added 
he,  tapping  the  pocket  which  held  the  letter,  ''of  that 
1  am  certain." 

"What about  our  theater  to-night?"  demanded  Tait 
dubiously. 

"It  all  depends  on  my  interview  with  Hilliston." 

Tait  said  nothing  at  the  moment,  and  shortly  after- 
ward they  parted,  Larcher  to  seek  his  guardian  in 
Lincoln's  Inn  Fields,  Tait  to  return  to  his  chambers. 

"  Humph!  "  said  the  latter  thoughtfully,  "there  will 
be  no  theater  for  us  to-night.  I  don't  like  the  look  of 
things  at  all.     The  deuce  take  Margaret  Bezel !  " 


CHAPTER    III. 

THE    REVELATION    OF    FRANCIS    HILLISTON. 

Once  upon  a  time  popular  imagination  pictured 
a  lawyer  as  a  cadaverous  creature,  arrayed  in  rusty 
black,  A/ith  bulging  blue-bag,  and  dry  forensic  lore  on 
his  tongue.  So  was  the  child  of  Themis  represented 
in  endless  Adelphia  farces;  and  his  moral  nature,  as 
conceived  by  the  ingenious  playwright,  was  even  less 
inviting  than  his  exterior.  He  was  a  scamp,  a  rogue, 
a  compiler  of  interminable  bills,  an  exactor  of  the  last 
shilling,  a  legal  Shylock,  hard-fisted  and  avaricious. 
To  a  great  extent  this  type  is  a  thing  of  the  past,  for 
your  latter-day  lawyer  is  an  alert,  well-dressed  person- 
age, social  and  amiable.  Still  he  is  looked  on  wi-th 
awe  as  a  dispenser  of  justice, — very  often  of  injustice, 
— and  not  all  the  fine  raiment  in  the  world  can  rob 
him  of  his  ancient  reputation:  when  he  was  a  dread 
being  to  the  dwellers  of  Grub  Street,  who  mostly  had 
the  task  of  limning  his  portrait,  and  so  impartial 
revenge  pictured  him  as  above. 

All  of  which  preamble  leads  up  to  the  fact  that 
Francis  Hilliston  was  a  lawyer  of  the  new  school, 
despite  his  sixty  and  more  years.  In  appearance  he 
was  not  unlike  a  farmer,  and  indeed  owned  a  few 
arable  acres  in  Kent,  where  he  played  the  role  of  a 
modern  Cincinnatus.  There  he  affected  rough  cloth- 
ing and  an    interest   in   agricultural    subjects,    but   in 

i9 


20  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

town  in  his  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields'  office  he  was 
solemnly  arrayed  in  a  frock  coat  with  other  garments 
to  match,  and  conveyed  into  his  twinkling  eyes  an 
expression  of  dignified  learning.  He  was  a  different 
man  in  London  to  what  he  was  in  Kent,  and  was  a 
kind  of  Dr.  Jekyll  and  Mr.  Hyde  for  moral  trans- 
formations. On  this  special  occasion  frock-coated 
legality   was    uppermost. 

Yet  he  unbent  for  a  moment  or  so  when  receiving 
Claude  Larcher,  for  childless  himself,  the  young  man 
was  to  him  a  very  Absalom;  and  he  loved  him  with  an 
affection  truly  paternal.  No  one  can  have  the  con- 
duct of  a  child  up  to  the  age  of  twenty — at  which 
period  Claude  made  his  debut  in  the  engineering  world, 
without  feeling  a  tugging  at  the  heart  strings.  Had 
Larcher  been  indeed  his  son,  and  he  a  father  in  place 
of  a  guardian,  he  could  have  scarcely  received  the 
young  man  more  warmly,  or  have  welcomed  him  with 
more  heartfelt  affection. 

But  the  first  outburst  over,  and  Claude  duly  greeted 
and  seated  in  a  convenient  chair,  Mr.  Hilliston  recurred 
to  his  legal  stiffness,  and,  with  no  smile  on  his  lips,  sat 
eyeing  his  visitor.  He  had  an  awkward  conversation 
before  him,  and  was  mentally  wondering  as  to  the 
best  way  of  breaking  the  ice.  Claude  spared  him  the 
trouble  by  at  once  plunging  headlong  into  the  subject 
of  Margaret  Bezel  and  her  mysterious  letter. 

"Here  you  are,  sir,"  said  he,  handing  it  to  his  guar- 
dian. ''  I  have  brought  the  letter  of  this  woman  with 
me  as  you  wished,  and  I  have  also  abstained  from  see- 
ing her  in  accordance  with  your  desire." 

"  Humph  !  "  muttered  Hilliston,  skimming  the  letter 
with  a  legal  eye,  "I  thought  she  would  write." 


THE  REVELATION  OF  FRANCIS  HILLISTON.      2\ 

"  Do  you  know  her,  sir  ?  " 

"Oh,  yes!"  said  the  other  dryly.  "I  know  her. 
But,"  he  added  after  a  thoughtful  pause,  "I  have  not 
set  eyes  on  her  for  at  least  five-and-twenty  years." 

"Twenty-five  years,"  repeated  Claude,  thoughtful 
in  his  turn.  "  It  was  about  that  time  I  came  into  your 
house." 

Hilliston  looked  up  sharply,  as  though  conceiving 
that  the  remark  was  made  with  intention,  but  satisfied 
that  it  was  not  from  the  absent  expression  in  Larcher's 
face,  he  resumed  his  perusal  of  the  letter  and  com- 
mented thereon. 

"What  do  you  think  of  this  communication, 
Claude?" 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  think,"  replied  the  young 
man  promptly.  "  I  confess  I  am  curious  to  know  why 
this  woman  wishes  to  see  me.     Who  is  she  ?" 

"A  widow  lady  with  a  small  income." 

"  Does  she  know  anything  of  my  family  ?  " 

"Why  do  you  ask  that?"  demanded  Hilliston 
sharply,  and,  as  it  seemed  to  Claude,  a  trifle  uneasily. 

"Well,  as  I  am  a  stranger  to  her,  she  cannot  wish 
to  see  me  on  any  personal  matter,  sir.  And  as  you 
mention  that  you  have  not  seen  her  for  five-and-twenty 
years,  about  which  time  my  parents  died,  I  naturally 
thought " 

"That  I  had  some  object  in  asking  you  not  to  see 
her?" 

"Well,  yes." 

"You  are  a  man  of  experience  now,  Claude,"  said 
Hilliston,  with  apparent  irrelevance,  "and  have  been 
all  over  the  world.  Consequently  you  know  that  life 
is  full  of— trouble." 


2  2  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

"  I  believe  so;  but  hitherto  no  trouble  has  come  my 
way." 

''You  might  expect  that  it  would  come  sooner  or 
later,  Claude.     It  has  come  now." 
'  ''Indeed  !  "  said  Larcher,  in  a  joking  tone.      "  Am  I 
about  to  lose  my  small  income  of  five  hundred  a  year  ?  " 

"No,  that  is  safe  enough!"  answered  Hilliston 
abruptly,  rising  to  his  feet.  "  The  trouble  of  which  I 
speak  will  not  affect  your  material  welfare.  Indeed,  if 
you  are  a  hardened  man  of  the  world,  as  you  might  be, 
it  need  affect  you  very  little  in  any  case.  You  are  not 
responsible  for  the  sins  of  a  former  generation,  and  as 
you  hardly  remember  your  parents,  cannot  have  any 
sympathy  with  their  worries." 

"  I  certainly  remember  very  little  of  my  parents, 
sir,"  said  Larcher,  moved  by  the  significance  of  this 
speech.  "  Yet  I  have  a  faint  memory  of  two  faces. 
One  a  dark,  handsome  face,  with  kind  eyes,  the  other 
a  beautiful,  fair  countenance." 

"Your  father  and  mother,  Claude." 

"Yes.  So  much  I  remember  of  them.  But  what 
have  they  to  do  with  Margaret  Bezel — or  Mrs.  Bezel, 
as  I  suppose  she  is  called  ?  Why  does  she  want  to  see 
me?" 

"To  tell  you  a  story  which  I  prefer  to  relate  my- 
self." 

"About  whom?" 

"About  your  parents." 

"But  they  are  dead  !  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Hilliston,  "  they  are  dead." 

He  walked  about  the  room,  opened  a  box,  and  took 
out  a  roll  of  papers,  yellow  with  age.  These  were 
neatly    tied    up    with    red   tape    and    inscribed    "The 


THE  REVELATION  OF  FRANCIS  HILLISTON.      23 

Larcher  Affair."  Placing  them  on  the  table  before 
him,  Hilliston  resumed  his  seat,  and  looked  steadfastly 
at  his  ward.  Claude,  vaguely  aware  that  some  un- 
pleasant communication  w^as  about  to  be  made  to  him, 
sat  silently  waiting  the  words  of  ill  omen,  and  his 
naturally  fresh  color  faded  to  a  dull  white  with  appre- 
hension. 

"I  have  always  loved  you  like  a  son,  Claude,"  said 
Hilliston  soljemnly,  ''ever  since  you  came  to  my 
house,  a  tiny  boy  of  five.  It  has  been  my  aim  to  edu- 
cate you  well,  to  advance  your  interests,  to  make  you 
happy,  and  above  all,"  added  the  lawyer,  lowering  his 
voice,  "to  keep  the  contents  of  these  papers  secret 
from  you." 

Claude  said  nothing,  though  Hilliston  paused  to 
enable  him  to  speak,  but  sat  waiting  further  explana- 
tion. 

"I  thought  the  past  was  dead  and  buried,"  resumed 
his  guardian,  in  a  low  voice.  "  So  far  as  I  can  see  it  is 
foolish  to  rake  up  old  scandals — old  crimes." 

"  Crimes!  "  said  Claude,  rising  involuntarily  to  his 
feet. 

"Crimes,"  repeated  Hilliston  sadly.  "The  time 
has  come  when  you  must  know  the  truth  about  your 
parents.  The  woman  who  wrote  this  letter  has  been 
silent  for  five-and-twenty  years.  Now,  for  some  reason 
with  which  I  am  unacquainted,  she  is  determined  to  see 
you  and  reveal  all.  A  few  months  ago  she  called  here 
to  tell  me  so.  I  implored  her  to  keep  silent,  pointing 
out  that  no  good  could  come  of  acquainting  you  with 
bygone  evils;  but  she  refused  to  listen  to  me,  and  left 
this  office  with  the  full  intention  of  finding  you  out,  and 
making  her  revelation." 


24  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

"  But  I  have  been  in  New  Zealand." 

''She  did  not  know  that,  nor  did  I  tell  her,"  said 
Hilliston  grimly;  ''in  fact,  I  refused  to  give  her  your 
address,  but  she  is  not  the  woman  to  be  easily  beaten, 
as  I  well  know.  I  guessed  she  would  find  out  the 
name  of  your  club  and  write  to  you  there,  therefore 
I  sent  that  letter  to  you  so  as  to  counter-plot  the 
creature.  I  expected  that  you  would  find  a  letter  from 
her  at  your  club  on  your  arrival.  I  was  right.  Here 
is  the  letter.  She  has  succeeded  so  far,  but  I  have 
managed  to  checkmate  her  by  obtaining  the  first  inter- 
view with  you.  Should  you  call  on  her, — and  after 
reading  these  papers  I  have  little  doubt  but  that  you 
will  do  so, — she  will  be  able  to  tell  you  nothing  new.  I 
cannot  crush  the  viper,  but  at  least  I  can  draw  its 
fangs. " 

"  You  speak  hardly  of  this  woman,  sir  ' 

"I  have  reason  to, "  said  Hilliston  quietly.  "But 
for  this  woman  your  father  would  still  be  alive. " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ? " 

"  I  mean  that  your  father,  George  Larcher,  was 
murdered!  " 

"Murdered!  " 

"  Yes!  Murdered  at  Horriston,  in  Kent,  in  the  year 
1866." 

Stunned  by  this  information,  which  he  was  far  from 
expecting,  Claude  sank  down  in  his  chair  with  a 
look  of  horror  on  his  face,  while  Hilliston  spoke 
rapidly. 

"I  have  kept  this  secret  all  these  years  because  I 
did  not  want  your  young  life  to  be  shadowed  by  the 
knowledge  of  your  father's  fate.  But  now  Mrs.  Bezel 
intends  to  tell  you  the  truth,  and  will  give  you  a  gar- 


THE  REVELATION  OF  FRANCIS  HILLISTON.      2j 

bled  version  of  the  same,  making  herself  out  a  martyr. 
I  must  be  beforehand  with  her,  and  I  wish  you  to  take 
those  papers,  and  read  the  account  of  the  case  which 
ended  in  the  acquittal  of  your  mother." 

**  My  mother!     Acquitted!     Do  you  mean " 

''I  mean  that  Mrs.  Larcher  was  accused  of  the  mur- 
der of  her  husband,  and  was  tried  and  acquitted." 

"Great  Heavens!     But  she  is  now  dead?" 

"I  say  no  more,"  said  Hilliston,  evading  a  direct 
reply.  "You  will  know  the  truth  when  you  read  these 
papers." 

Larcher  mechanically  took  the  packet  held  out  to 
him,  and  placed  it  in  his  pocket.  Then  he  rose  to  go. 
A  thousand  questions  were  on  the  tip  of  his  tongue, 
but  he  dare  not  ask  one.  It  would  be  better,  he 
thought,  to  learn  the  truth  from  the  papers,  in  place 
of  hearing  it  from  the  lips  of  Francis  Hilliston,  who 
might,  for  all  he  knew,  give  as  garbled  a  version  of  the 
affair  as  Mrs.  Bezel.  Hilliston  guessed  his  thoughts, 
and  approved  of  the  unspoken  decision. 

"I  think  you  are  right,"  he  said,  with  deliberation; 
"it  is  best  that  you  should  learn  the  truth  in  that  way. 
When  you  have  read  those  papers  come  and  see  me 
about  them." 

"One  moment,  sir!     Who  killed  my  father  ?" 

"I  cannot  say!  Your  mother  was  suspected  and 
proved  innocent.  A  friend  of  your  father  was  also 
suspected  and " 

"And  proved  innocent?" 

"No!  He  was  never  arrested — he  was  never  tried. 
He  vanished  on  the  night  of  the  murder  and  has  not 
been  heard  of  since.  Now,  I  can  tell  you  no  more. 
Go  and  read  the  papers,  Claude." 


26  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

Larcher  took  up  his  hat  and  hurried  toward  the  door 
in  a  mechanical  manner.     There  he  paused. 

"  Does  Mrs.  Bezel  know  the  truth  ?" 

Hilliston,  arranging  the  papers  on  the  table,  looked 
up  with  a  face  which  had  unexpectedly  grown  gray  and 
old. 

''Yes!"  he  said  quickly.  "I  think  Mrs.  Bezel 
knows  the  'truth.'" 


CHAPTER  IV. 

WHAT    OCCURRED    AT    HORRISTON. 

After  that  fatal  interview  Claude  went  neither  to 
the  house  at  Kensington  Gore  nor  to  the  chambers  of 
his  friend  Tait.  With  the  papers  given  to  him  by 
Hilliston  in  his  pocket,  he  repaired  to  a  quiet  hotel  in 
Jermyn  Street,  where  he  was  well-known,  and  there 
secured  a  bedroom  for  the  night.  A  wire  speedily 
brought  his  luggage  from  the  railway  station,  and  thus 
being  settled  for  the  moment,  he  proceeded  to  acquaint 
himself  with  the  tragedy  of  his  parents'  lives. 

It  was  some  time  before  he  could  make  up  his  mind 
to  read  the  papers,  and,  dreading  the  disagreeable 
relation,  he  put  off  the  perusal  till  such  time  as  he 
retired  to  bed.  A  note  dispatched  to  the  Club  inti- 
mated to  Tait  that  the  second  seat  at  the  Curtain 
Theater  would  be  unoccupied,  and  then  Claude  tried 
to  rid  himself  of  distracting  thoughts  by  a  rapid 
walk  in  the  Park.  So  do  men  dally  with  the  inevitable, 
and  va  lily  attempt  to  stay  the  march  of  Fate. 

Dinner  was  a  mere  farce  with  the  young  man,  for  he 
could  neither  eat  nor  drink,  and  afterward  he  dawdled 
about  the  smoke  room,  putting  off  the  reading  of  the 
papers  as  long  as  he  could.  A  superstitious  feeling  of 
coming  evil  withheld  him  from  immediately  learning 
the  truth;  and   it  was  not  until  the  clock  struck  ten 

27 


28  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

that  he  summoned  up  sufficient  'courage  to  repair  to 
his  bedroom. 

With  the  papers  spread  out  on  a  small  table,  he  sat 
down  at  half-past  ten,  reading  by  the  light  of  a  single 
candle.  A  second  and  a  third  were  needed  before  he 
arose  from  his  chair,  and  the  gray  dawn  was  glimmer- 
ing through  the  window  blinds  as  he  laid  down  the 
last  sheet.  Then  his  face  was  as  gray  as  the  light 
spreading  over  street  and  house,  for  he  knew  that  his 
dead  father  had  been  foully  murdered,  and  that  his 
dead  mother  had  been  morally,  if  not  legally,  guilty  of 
the  crime.  The  tragedy — a  strange  mixture  of  the 
sordid  and  the  romantic — took  place  at  Horriston,  in 
Kent,  in  the  year  1866,  and  the  following  are  the  main 
facts,  as  exhibited  by  the  provincial  press: 

In  the  year  i860  George  Larcher  and  his  wife  came 
to  settle  at  Horriston,  attracted  thereto  by  the  roman- 
tic beauty  of  the  scenery  and  the  cheerful  society  of 
that  rising  watering-place.  Since  that  time  Horriston, 
after  a  feeble  struggle  for  supremacy,  has  succumbed 
to  powerful  rivals,  and  is  once  more  a  sleepy  little 
provincial  town,  unknown  to  invalid  or  doctor.  But 
when  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Larcher  settled  there  it  was  a 
popular  resort  for  visitors  from  all  quarters  of  the 
three  kingdoms,  and  the  young  couple  were  extremely 
liked  by  the  gay  society  which  filled  the  town.  For 
five  years  they  lived  there,  but  during  the  sixth 
occurred  the  tragedy  which  slew  the  husband,  and 
placed  the  wife  in  the  dock. 

The  antecedents  of  the  pair  were  irreproachable  in 
every  respect.  He  was  a  fairly  rich  man  of  thirty-five, 
who,  holding  a  commission  in  the  army,  had  met  with 
his  wife — then  Miss  Barker — at  Cheltenham.     She  was 


WHAT  OCCURRED  AT  HORRISTON.  29 

a  beautiful  girl,  fond  of  dress  and  gayety,  the  belle  of 
her  native  town,  and  the  greatest  flirt  of  the  country 
side.  Handsome  George  Larcher,  in  all  the  bravery 
of  martial  trappings,  came  like  the  young  prince  of  the 
fairy  tale,  and  carried  off  the  beauty  from  all  rivals. 
She,  knowing  him  to  be  rich,  seeing  him  to  be  hand- 
some, and  aware  that  he  was  well-connected,  accepted 
his  hand,  and  so  they  were  married,  to  the  great  dis- 
comfiture of  many  sighing  swains.  There  was  love  on 
his  side  at  least,  but  whether  Julia  Barker  returned 
that  passion  in  any  great  degree  it  is  hard  to  say. 
The  provincial  reporter  hinted  that  a  prior  attachment 
had  engaged  her  heart,  and  though  she  married 
Larcher  for  his  money,  and  looks,  and  position,  yet  she 
only  truly  loved  one  man — one  Mark  Jeringham,  who 
afterward  figured  in  the  tragedy  at  Horriston. 

To  all  outward  appearance  Captain  and  Mrs.  Larcher 
were  a  pattern  couple,  and  popular  with  military  and 
civil  society.  Then,  in  obedience  to  the  wish  of  his 
wife,  George  Larcher  sold  out,  and  within  a  few  months 
of  their  marriage  they  came  to  live  at  Horriston.  Here 
they  took  a  house  known  as  The  Laurels,  which 
was  perched  on  a  cliff  of  moderate  height,  overlooking 
the  river  Sarway;  and  proceeded  to  entertain  the  gay 
society  of  the  neighborhood.  One  son  was  born  to 
them  a  year  after  they  took  up  their  abode  at  The 
Laurels,  and  he  was  five  years  of  age  when  the  tragedy 
took  place  which  caused  the  death  of  his  parent. 
Claude  had  no  difficulty  in  recognizing  himself  as  the 
orphan  so  pathetically  alluded  to  by  the  flowery  pro- 
vincial reporter. 

The  household  of  George  Larcher  consisted  of  six 
servants,  among  whom  two  were  particularly  interest- 


30  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

ing.  The  one  was  the  captain's  valet,  Denis  Bantry, 
an  Irish  soldier  in  the  same  regiment  as  his  master, 
who  had  been  bought  out  by  Larcher  when  he  took 
leave  of  military  glory.  Attached  to  the  captain  by 
many  acts  of  kindness,  Denis  was  absolutely  devoted 
to  him,  and  was  no  unimportant  personage  in  the  new 
home.  The  other  servant  was  Mona  Bantry,  the  sister 
of  Denis,  a  handsome,  bright-eyed  lass  from  County 
Kerry,  who  acted  as  maid  to  Mrs.  Larcher.  The  re- 
maining servants  call  for  no  special  mention,  but  this 
Irish  couple  must  be  particularly  noted  as  having  been 
mixed  up  with  the  tragedy. 

For  some  months  all  went  well  at  The  Laurels, 
and  it  seemed  as  though  the  Larchers  v/ere  devoted  to 
one  another.  But  this  was  only  outwardly,  for  the 
character  of  Julia  developed  rapidly  after  marriage  into 
that  of  a  vain,  frivolous  woman,  eager  of  admiration, 
extravagant  as  regards  dress,  and  neglectful  of  the 
infant  son.  Larcher,  a  thoroughly  domesticated  man, 
greatly  resented  the  attitude  taken  up  by  his  wife,  and 
the  resentment  led  to  frequent  quarrels.  He  was 
annoyed  by  her  frivolity  and  continuous  absence  from 
home;  while  she  began  to  dislike  her  grave  husband, 
who  would  have  made  her — as  she  expressed  it — a  mere 
domestic  drudge.  But  the  pair  managed  to  hoodwink 
the  world  as  to  their  real  feelings  to  one  another,  and 
it  was  only  when  the  trial  of  Mrs.  Larcher  came  on 
that  the  truth  was  revealed.  In  all  Kent  there  was  no 
more  unhappy  home  than  that  at  The  Laurels. 

To  make  matters  worse,  Mark  Jeringham  paid  a  visit 
to  Horriston,  and  having  known  Mrs.  Larcher  from 
childhood,  naturally  enough  became  a  frequent  visitor. 
He  was  everywhere  at  the  heels  of  the  former  belle  of 


WHAT  OCCURRED   AT  HORRISTON.  31 

Cheltenham,  who  encouraged  him  in  his  attentions. 
Larcher  remonstrated  with  his  wife  on  her  folly,  but 
she  saucily  refused  to  alter  her  line  of  conduct.  But 
for  the  scandal  of  the  thing  Larcher  would  have  for- 
bidden Jeringham  the  house;  and,  to  mark  his  dis- 
approbation, gave  him  the  cold  shoulder  on  every 
occasion.  Nevertheles,  this  inconvenient  person  per- 
sisted in  thrusting  himself  between  husband  and  wife, 
to  the  anger  of  the  former  and  the  delight  of  the  latter. 
The  introduction  of  this  third  element  only  made 
matters  worse. 

The  house  was  divided  into  camps,  for  Mona  sup- 
ported her  mistress  in  her  frivolity,  and,  indeed,  seemed 
herself  to  have  an  admiration  for  handsome  Mark 
Jeringham,  who  was  very  generous  in  money  matters. 
Denis,  in  whose  eyes  his  master  was  perfect,  hated  the 
interloper  as  much  as  Larcher,  and  loudly  protested 
against  the  attention  of  Mona  and  his  mistress. 
Another  friend  who  supported  Larcher  was  Francis 
Hilliston,  then  a  gay  young  lawyer  of  thirty-five,  who 
often  paid  a  visit  to  Horriston.  He  also  frequented 
The  Laurels,  but  was  much  disliked  by  Mrs.  Larcher, 
who  greatly  resented  his  loyal  friendship  for  her  hus- 
band. Things  were  in  this  position  on  the  23d  of 
June,  1866,  when  events  occurred  which  resulted  in  the 
murder  of  Captain  Larcher,  the  disappearance  of  Jer- 
ingham, and  the  arrest  of  Mrs.  Larcher  on  a  charge  of 
murder. 

A  masked  ball  in  fancy  dress  was  to  be  given  at  the 
Town  Hall  on  that  night,  and  hither  Mrs.  Larcher  was 
going  as  Mary,  Queen  of  Scots,  accompanied  by  Jer- 
ingham in  the  character  of  Darnley.  George  Larcher 
refused  to  be  present,  and  went  up  to  London  on  the 


32  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

night  in  question,  leaving  his  faithful  friend  Hilliston 
to  look  after  his  matrimonial  interests  at  the  ball. 
Before  he  left  a  terrible  scene  took  place  between  him- 
self and  his  wife,  in  which  he  forbade  her  to  go  to  the 
dance,  but  she  defied  him,  and  said  she  would  go  with- 
out his  permission.  Whereupon  Larcher  left  the  house 
and  went  up  to  London,  swearing  that  he  would  never 
return  until  his  wife  asked  his  pardon  and  renounced 
the  friendship  of  Jeringham. 

Now,  here  began  the  mystery  which  no  one  was  able 
to  fathom.  Mrs.  Larcher  went  to  the  ball  with  Jering- 
ham, and  having,  as  she  said  to  Hilliston,  who  was 
also  at  the  ball,  enjoyed  herself  greatly,  returned  home 
at  three  in  the  morning.  The  next  day  she  was  ill  in 
bed,  although  she  had  left  the  Town  Hall  in  perfect 
health,  and  Mark  Jeringham  had  disappeared.  Lar- 
cher was  not  seen  in  the  neighborhood  for  five  days, 
and  presumably  was  still  in  London;  so  during  his 
absence  Mrs.  Larcher  kept  her  bed.  Then  his  body, 
considerably  disfigured,  was  found  at  the  mouth  of  the 
river  Sarway,  some  four  miles  down.  Curious  to  state 
it  was  clothed  in  a  fancy  dress  similar  to  that  worn  by 
Jeringham  on  the  night  of  the  ball. 

On  the  discovery  of  the  body  public  curiosity  was 
greatly  excited,  and  a  thousand  rumors  flew  from 
mouth  to  mouth.  That  a  crime  had  been  committed 
no  one  doubted  for  a  moment,  as  an  examination 
proved  that  George  Larcher  had  been  stabbed  to  the 
heart  by  some  slender,  sharp  instrument.  The  matter 
passed  into  the  hands  of  the  police,  and  they  paid  a 
visit  to  The  Laurels  for  the  purpose  of  seeing  what 
light  Mrs.  Larcher  could  throw  on  the  matter.  At 
this  awful  period  of  her  frivolous  life  Francis  Hilliston 


WHAT  OCCURRED  AT  HORRISTON.  33 

stood  her  friend,  and  it  was  he  who  interviewed  the 
officers  of  the  law  when  they  called. 

Mrs.  Larcher  was  still  in  bed,  and,  under  the  doc- 
tor's orders,  refused  to  rise  therefrom,  or  to  receive 
her  visitors.  She  protested  to  Hilliston,  who  in  his 
turn  reported  her  sayings  to  the  police,  that  she  knew 
nothing  about  the  matter.  She  had  not  seen  her  hus- 
band since  he  left  her  on  the  23d  of  June,  and  no 
one  was  more  astonished  or  horror-struck  t^an  she 
at  the  news  of  his  death.  According  to  her  story 
she  had  left  the  ball  at  three  o'clock,  and  had  driven  to 
The  Laurels  with  Jeringham.  He  had  parted  from 
her  at  the  door  of  the  house,  and  had  walked  back  to 
Horriston.  His  reason  for  not  entering,  and  for  not 
using  the  carriage  to  return,  was  that  he  did  not  wish 
to  give  color  to  the  scandal  as  to  the  relations  which 
existed  between  them,  which  Mrs.  Larcher  vowed  and 
protested  were  purely  platonic. 

Furthermore,  she  asserted  that  her  illness  was 
caused  by  a  discovery  which  she  had  made  on  the 
night  of  the  ball:  that  Mona  Bantry  was  about  to 
become  a  mother,  and  to  all  appearance  she  believed 
that  the  father  of  the  coming  child  was  none  other 
than  her  husband.  Far  from  thinking  that  he  had 
been  murdered,  she  had  been  waiting  for  his  return  in 
order  to  upbraid  him  for  his  profligacy,  and  to  demand 
a  divorce.  Mona  Bantry  had  disappeared  immediately 
after  the  discovery  of  her  ruin,  and  Mrs.  Larcher  pro- 
fessed that  she  did  not  know  where  she  was. 

This  story,  which  was  feasible  enough,  satisfied  the 
police  authorities  for  the  moment,  and  they  retired, 
only  to  return  three  days  later  with  a  warrant  for  the 
arrest  of  Mrs.  Larcher.     In  the  interval  a  dagger  had 


34  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

been  found  in  the  grounds  of  The  Laurels,  on  the 
banks  of  the  river,  and,  as  it  was  stained  with  blood 
and  exactly  fitted  the  wound,  it  was  concluded  that 
with  this  weapon  the  crime  had  been  committed. 
Inquiry  resulted  in  the  information  being  obtained  that 
Mrs.  Larcher,  in  her  character  of  Mary,  Queen  of 
Scots,  had  worn  this  dagger  on  the  night  of  the  ball. 
Hence  it  was  evident,  so  said  the  police,  that  she  had 
killed  her  husband. 

The  theory  of  the  police  was  that  Captain  Larcher 
had  returned  from  London  on  the  night  of  the  ball, 
and  had  witnessed  the  parting  of  his  wife  and  Jering- 
ham  at  the  door.  Filled  with  jealous  rage  he  had 
upbraided  his  wife  in  the  sitting  room,  the  window  of 
which  looked  out  on  the  cliff  overhanging  the  river. 
In  a  moment  of  fury  she  had  doubtless  snatched  the 
dagger  from  her  girdle  and  stabbed  him  to  the  heart, 
then,  terrified  at  what  she  had  done,  had  thrown  the 
body  out  of  the  window,  trusting  that  the  stream 
would  carry  it  away,  and  so  conceal  her  crime.  This 
the  river  had  done,  for  the  body  had  been  discovered 
four  miles  down,  where  it  had  been  carried  by  the  cur- 
rent. As  to  the  dagger  being  in  the  grounds  in  place 
of  the  room,  the  police,  never  at  a  loss  for  a  theory, 
suggested  that  Mrs.  Larcher  had  stolen  out  of  the 
house,  and  had  thrown  the  dagger  over  the  bank 
where  it  was  subsequently  discovered. 

Mrs.  Larcher  asserted  her  innocence,  and  reiterated 
her  statement  that  she  had  not  seen  her  husband  since 
the  day  of  the  ball.  He  had  not  returned  on  that 
night,  as  the  servants  could  testify.  The  only  domes- 
tics who  had  not  retired  to  bed  when  she  returned  at 
three    o'clock   were   Mona  and    Denis.     Of   these  the 


IVHAT  OCCURRED   AT  HORRISTON.  35 

first  had  gone  away  to  hide  her  shame,  and  all  inquiries 
and  advertisements  failed  to  find  her.  But  at  the 
trial  Denis — much  broken  down  at  the  ruin  of  his 
sister — swore  that  Captain  Larcher  had  not  returned 
from  London  on  that  evening,  and  that  Mrs.  Larcher  had 
gone  straight  to  the  sitting  room,  where  she  first  made 
the  discovery  of  Mona's  iniquity,  and  then  had  after- 
ward retired  to  bed.  Mrs.  Larcher  asserted  that  the 
dagger  had  been  lost  by  her  at  the  ball,  and  she  knew 
not  into  whose  hands  it  had  fallen. 

The  trial,  which  took  place  at  Canterbury,  was  a 
nine  days'  wonder,  and  opinions  were  divided  as  to 
the  guilt  of  the  erring  wife.  One  party  held  that  she 
had  committed  the  crime  in  the  manner  stated  by  the 
police,  while  the  others  asserted  that  Jeringham  was 
the  criminal,  and  had  disappeared  in  order  to  escape 
the  consequences  of  his  guilt.  "  Doubtless,"  said  they, 
"he  had  been  met  by  Larcher  after  leaving  the  house, 
and  had  killed  him  during  a  quarrel."  The  use  of  the 
dagger  was  accounted  for  by  these  wiseacres  by  a 
belief  that  Mrs.  Larcher  had  given  it  to  Jeringham  as 
a  love  token  when  she  parted  from  him  at  the  door  of 
The  Laurels. 

The  evidence  of  Denis,  that  he  had  been  with  or 
near  Mrs.  Larcher  till  she  retired  to  bed,  and  that  the 
captain  had  not  set  foot  in  the  house  on  that  evening, 
turned  the  tide  of  evidence  in  favor  of  the  unfortunate 
woman.  She  was  acquitted  of  the  crime,  and  went  to 
London,  but  there  died — as  appeared  from  the  news- 
papers— a  few  weeks  afterward,  killed  by  anxiety  and 
shame. 

The  child  Claude  was  taken  charge  of  by  Mr.  Hil- 
liston,  who  had    l)cen  a  good   friend    to   Mrs.  Larcher 


36  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

during  her  troubles,  and  so  the  matter  faded  from  the 
public  mind. 

What  became  of  Jeringham  no  one  ever  knew.  His 
victim — as  some  supposed  Larcher  to  be — was  duly 
buried  in  the  Horriston  Cemetery,  but  all  the  efforts 
of  the  police  failed  to  find  the  man  who  was  morally, 
if  not  legally,  guilty  of  the  crime.  Denis  also  was 
lost  in  the  London  crowd,  and  all  those  who  had  been 
present  at  the  tragedy  at  The  Laurels  were  scat- 
tered far  and  wide.  New  matters  attracted  the  atten- 
tion of  the  fickle  public,  and  the  Larcher  affair  was 
forgotten  in  due  course. 

The  mystery  was  never  solved.  Who  was  guilty  of 
the  crime  ?  That  question  was  never  answered. 
Some  accused  Mrs.  Larcher  despite  her  acquittal  and 
death.  Others  insisted  that  Jeringham  was  the  crimi- 
nal; but  no  one  could  be  certain  of  the  truth.  Hillis- 
ton,  seeing  that  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Larcher  were  dead,  that 
Mona,  Denis,  and  Jeringham  had  disappeared,  wisely 
kept  the  matter  secret  from  Claude,  deeming  that  it 
would  be  folly  to  disturb  the  mind  of  the  lad  with  an 
insoluble  riddle  of  so  terrible  a  nature.  So  for  five- 
and-twenty  years  the  matter  had  remained  in  abeyance. 
Now  it  seemed  as  though  it  were  about  to  be  reopened 
by  Mrs.  Bezel. 

"And  who — :"  asked  Claude  of  himself,  as  he  finished 
this  history  in  the  gray  dawn  of  the  morning,  "  who  is 
Mrs.  Bezel  ?  " 

To  say  the  least,  he  had  a  right  to  ask  himself  this 
question,  for  it  was  curious  that  the  name  of  Mrs. 
Bezel  was  not  even  mentioned  in  connection  with  that 
undiscovered  crime  of  iive-and-twenty  years  before. 


CHAPTER  V. 

A    STRANGE    COINCIDENCE. 

In  spite  of  Tait's  methodical  habits,  circumstances 
beyond  his  control  often  occurred  to  upset  them.  On 
the  previous  day  the  unexpected  arrival  of  Claude  had 
altered  his  plans  for  the  day,  and  after  his  return  from 
the  theater  on  the  same  evening,  he  had — contrary  to 
his  rule — passed  the  night  in  reading.  The  invaluable 
Dormer  had  procured  "A  Whim  of  Fate  "  from  Mudie's, 
and  Tait  found  it  lying  on  the  table  in  company  with 
biscuits  and  wine.  Excited  by  the  performance,  he 
did  not  feel  inclined  to  retire  at  his  usual  hour  of  mid- 
night, and  while  sipping  his  wine,  picked  up  the  first 
volume  to  while  away  the  time  till  he  should  feel  sleepy. 

Alas  !  this  novel,  about  which  everyone  in  London 
was  talking,  proved  anything  but  soporific,  and  for  the 
whole  of  that  night  Tait  sat  in  his  comfortable  chair 
devouring  the  three  volumes.  The  tale  was  one  of 
mystery,  and  until  he  learned  the  solution  Tait,  con- 
ventional and  incurious  as  he  was,  could  not  tear  him- 
self from  the  fascination  of  the  printed  page.  When 
the  riddle  was  read,  v/hen  the  criminal  was  hunted 
down,  when  the  bad  were  punished,  and  the  good  re- 
warded, the  dawn  was  already  breaking  in  the  east. 
In  his  Jermyn  Street  hotel,  Claude  Larcher  was  rising, 
stiff  and  tired,  from  the  perusal  of  a  tragedy  in  real 
life;  in  his  Earls  Street  chambers,   Spenser  Tait  was 

37 


38  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

closing  the  third  volume  of  John  Parver's  work. 
Each  had  passed  a  wakeful  night,  each  had  been  fasci- 
nated by  the  account  of  a  crime,  the  one  real,  the 
other  fictional.  So  does  Fate,  whose  designs  no  one 
can  presume  to  explain,  duplicate  our  lives  for  the 
gaining  of  her  own  ends. 

Rather  disgusted  by  his  departure  from  the  conven- 
tional, and  heartily  blaming  the  too  ingenious  John 
Parver  for  having  caused  such  departure,  Tait  tumbled 
hastily  into  bed,  in  order  to  snatch  a  few  hours'  sleep. 
Dormer,  ignorant  of  his  master's  vigil,  woke  him 
remorselessly  at  his  usual  hour,  with  the  unexpected 
intelligence  that  Mr.  Larcher  was  waiting  to  see  him 
in  the  sitting  room.  From  the  telegram  of  the  previ- 
ous night,  and  this  early  visit,  Tait  rightly  concluded 
that  his  friend  was  in  trouble,  so  without  waiting  to 
take  his  bath,  he  hurriedly  slipped  on  a  dressing  gown, 
and  appeared  sleepy  and  disheveled  in  the  sitting  room. 
Larcher,  who  looked  likewise  dissipated,  arose  to  his 
feet  as  the  little  man  entered,  and  they  eyed  one 
another  in  astonishment,  for  the  appearance  of  each 
was  totally  at  variance  with  his  usual  looks. 

"Well,"  said  Tait  interrogatively,  '*I  see  you've 
been  making  a  night  of  it." 

"I  might  say  the  same  of  you,"  replied  Larcher 
grimly;  "a  more  dissipated  looking  wretch  I  never 
saw.     Have  you  fallen  into  bad  habits  at  your  age  ?" 

''That  depends  on  what  you  call  bad  habits, 
Claude.  I  have  not  been  round  the  town,  if  that  is 
what  you  mean.  But,  seduced  by  the  novel  of  a  too 
ingenious  author,  I  have  sat  up  all  night  devouring  his 
three  volumes.  Such  a  thing  has  not  occurred  with 
me  since  I  unfortunately  tried  to  read  myself  to  sleep 


A    STRANGE   COINCIDENCE.  39 

with  'Jane  Eyre.'  Charlotte  Bronte  and  John  Parver 
are  both  answerable  for  my  white  nights.  But  you," 
continued  Tait,  surveying  his  friend  in  a  quizzical 
manner;    "am  I  to  understand  that " 

"You  are  to  understand  that  my  night  has  weei  a 
duplicate  of  your  own,"  interrupted  Larcher  curtly. 

''What!  Have  you  been  reading  'A  Whim  of 
Fate'?" 

"  No,  my  friend,  I  have  not.  While  you  were  devour- 
ing fiction,  I  have  been  making  myself  acquainted  with 
a  tragedy  in  real  life." 

Larcher  thereupon  savagely  threw  on  the  breakfast 
table  a  roll  of  papers,  and  looked  defiantly  at  his  friend. 
Tone  and  expression  failed  to  elicit  surprise. 

"Oh!"  said  Tait  reflectively,  "then  Hilliston 
gave  you  bad  news,  after  all.  I  guessed  he  had  from 
your  refusal  to  accompany  me  to  the  theater  last 
night." 

"You  guessed  rightly.  He  gave  me  such  news  as  I 
never  expected  to  hear.  You  will  find  it  amply  set 
forth  in  those  papers,  which  I  have  been  reading  all 
night." 

"  Dear  me.  I  trust  it  is  nothing  serious.  Has  Mrs. 
Bezel " 

"I  don't  know  anything  about  Mrs.  Bezel,"  said 
Larcher  loudly.  "So  far  as  she  is  concerned  I  am 
as  much  in  the  dark  as  ever.     But  my  parents " 

"What  of  them?"  interrupted  Tait,  uttering  the 
first  thought  which  came  into  his  mind.  "Are  they 
alive,  after  all  ?  " 

"No.  They  are  dead,  sure  enough,"  muttered 
Claude  gloomily. 

"  In  that  case  what  can  Mr.  Hilliston  or  Mrs.  Bezel 


40  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

have  to  say  about  them,"  demanded  the  other,  looking 
puzzled.  "No  scandal  about  Queen  Elizabeth,  I 
hope?" 

"Confound  it,  man,  don't  be  so  flippant!     I've  had_ 
bad   news,   I   tell   you.      My   father," — here   Larcher 
gulped  down  his  emotion  with  some  difficulty — "my 
father  was  murdered !  " 

"  Murdered!  "  repeated  Tait,  looking  aghast,  as  well 
he  might. 

"  Yes!  And  my  mother  was  accused  of  having  mur- 
dered him.     There  you  have  it." 

It  was  some  little  time  before  Tait  could  face  the 
skeleton  so  unexpectedly  produced  from  the  Larcher 
cupboard.  Hitherto  his  acquaintance  with  crime  had 
been  mainly  derived  from  fiction  after  the  style  of  John 
Parver,  or  from  the  columns  of  the  press;  but  now  he 
was  brought  face  to  face  with  a  tragedy  indirectly  con- 
nected with  his  dearest  friend,  and  naturally  enough 
did  not  like  the  situation.  Nevertheless,  like  the  wise 
little  man  he  was,  he  made  no  comment  on  the  truth  so 
suddenly  blurted  out,  but  pushed  his  friend  into  a  com- 
fortable chair,  and  proposed  breakfast. 

"Breakfast!"  cried  Claude,  clutching  his  hair;  "I 
could  not  eat  a  morsel.  Have  you  no  feelings,  you 
little  monster,  to  propose  breakfast  to  me,  after  hear- 
ing such  hideous  news.  Why  don't  you  give  me  sym- 
pathy, and  try  and  help  me,  instead  of  sitting  at  your 
confounded  rasher  of  bacon  like  a  graven  image." 

"  I'll  do  all  in  my  power  later  on,"  said  Tait  quietly; 
"  but  you  are  upset  by  this  news,  and  no  wonder.  Try 
and  eat  a  little,  then  you  can  tell  me  all  about  it,  and 
I'll  give  you  the  best  advice  in  my  power." 

Thus  adjured,  Claude  drew  in  his  chair,  and  man- 


A    STRANGE    COINCIDENCE.  41 

aged  to  eat  a  morsel  of  toast  and  drink  a  cup  of  coffee, 
after  which  he  lighted  his  pipe,  and  smoked  furiously, 
while  Tait,  anxious  that  his  friend  should  regain  his 
self-control,  made  a  lengthened  meal,  and  talked  of 
divers  matters.  Breakfast  over,  he  also  filled  his 
favorite  pipe,  and,  drawing  a  chair  close  to  that  of 
Larcher's,  waited  for  an  explanation. 

"Well,  Claude,"  said  he,  after  a  pause,  during 
which  the  other  showed  no  disposition  to  speak,  ''tell 
me  your  trouble. " 

"I  have  told  you,"  grumbled  Larcher  angrily;  "if 
you  want  to  know  any  more  about  it,  read  those 
papers." 

"  It  would  take  too  long,  and,  as  it  happens,  I  am 
already  tired  with  reading.  Tell  me  about  the  affair 
as  shortly  as  possible,  and  then  we  can  go  through  the 
papers  together.  You  say  your  father  was  murdered. 
Who  committed  the  crime  ?" 

"No  one  knows!     The  criminal  is  still  at  large." 

"  After  five-and-twenty  years  he  is  likely  to  remain 
so." 

"No!",  cried  Larcher  vehemently,  striking  the 
table;  "  I'll  hunt  him  down,  and  find  him  out,  and  put 
a  rope  round  his  neck,  so  help  me  God! " 

"You  say  your  mother  was  accused  of  the  crime," 
said  Tait,  ignoring  this  outburst. 

"Yes.  But  she  was  acquitted  on  the  evidence  of 
my  father's  valet.  Shortly  afterward  she  died  in  Lon- 
don. I  don't  wonder  at  it,"  said  poor  Claude  distract- 
edly; "the  shame,  the  disgrace!  If  she  survived  she 
was  bitterly  punished.  I  should  like  to  see  the  man 
who  would  dare  to  asperse  her  memory." 

"No  one  will  do  so,"  said  Tait  soothingly.      "Con- 


42  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

trol  yourself,  my  dear  fellow,  and  we  will  look  into 
this  matter  together.  I  have  just  been  reading  about 
a  crime,  but  I  did  not  think  I  would  be  so  soon  con- 
cerned in  dealing  with  one." 

''You  will  help  me,  Tait  ?     You  will  stand  by  me  ?" 

"  My  dear  friend,  can  you  ask  ?  I  am  completely  at 
your  service,  and  together  we  will  do  all  in  our  power 
to  discover  the  murderer  of  your  father  and  clear  the 
memory  of  your  mother." 

"It  is  clear.  She  was  acquitted  by  the  jury. 
Don't   you    dare    to " 

**I  don't  dare  to  say  anything,"  interrupted  Tait 
impatiently.  "Do  be  reasonable,  my  good  fellow. 
So  long  as  I  am  ignorant,  I  can  say  nothing.  Tell  me 
the  particulars  and  we  may  arrive  at  some  conclusion. 
Now  then,  give  me  ^precis  of  the  case." 

Dominated  by  the  superior  calm  of  his  friend,  Claude 
related  the  Larcher  affair  as  succinctly  as  possible. 
The  details  of  the  case  had  impressed  themselves  too 
strongly  on  his  brain  for  him  to  hesitate  in  the  narra- 
tion, and,  keeping  his  emotions  well  in  hand,  he  man- 
aged to  give  a  fairly  minute  account  of  the  tragedy 
which  had  taken  place  at  Horriston  in  the  year  1866. 

The  effect  on  Tait  was  surprising.  A  look  of  blank 
astonishment  overspread  his  face  as  Larcher  proceeded 
with  his  story,  and  when  it  was  finished  he  looked 
anxiously  at  his  friend.  Apart  from  the  details  of  the 
case,  he  was  deeply  interested  in  the  matter  from 
another  point  of  view.  Larcher  waited  to  hear  what 
his  friend  thought  of  the  case,  but  instead  of  com- 
menting thereon  Tait  both  acted  and  spoke  in  an 
apparently  irrelevant  manner. 

Without  a  word  he  heard  Claude  to  the  end,  then 


A    STRANGE   COINCIDENCE.  43 

rose  from  his  seat,  and  walking  to  the  other  end  of 
the  room  returned  with  three  volumes  bound  in  red 
cloth. 

"This  book  is  called  'A  Whim  of  Fate,'"  said  he 
placing  the  volumes  at  Larcher's  elbow.  "Have  you 
read  it?" 

"Confound  it,  what  do  you  mean  ?"  burst  out  Claude, 
with  justifiable  wrath.  "  I  tell  you  of  a  serious  matter 
which  nearly  concerns  myself,  and  you  prattle  about 
the  last  fashionable  novel." 

"Wait  a  minute,"  said  Tait,  laying  a  detaining  hand 
on  his  friend's  coat  sleeve.  "There  is  more  method 
in  my  madness  than  you  give  me  credit  for." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ? " 

"The  story  you  tell  me  is  most  extraordinary.  But 
the  information  I  am  about  to  impart  to  you  is  more 
extraordinary  still.  You  say  this  crime  at  Horriston 
was  committed  five-and-twenty  years  ago." 

"Yes,  you  can  see  by  the  date  of  those  newspapers." 

"  It  has  very  likely  faded  out  of  all  memories." 

"Of  course!  I  don't  suppose  anyone  is  now  alive 
who  gives  it  a  thought." 

"Well,"  said  Tait,  "it  is  certainly  curious." 

"What  is  curious  ?     Explain  yourself." 

"The  story  you  tell  me  now  was  known  to  me  last 
night." 

Larcher  looked  at  his  friend  in  unconcealed  surprise, 
and  promptly  contradicted  what  seemed  to  be  a  foolish 
assertion. 

"That  is  impossible,  Tait.  I  heard  it  only  last  night 
myself." 

"  Nevertheless,  I  read  it  last  night." 

"  Read  it  last  night!  "  repeated  Larcher  skeptically. 


44  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

"In  this  book,"  said  Tait,  laying  his  hand  on  the 
novel. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  demanded  the  other 
impatiently. 

"  I  mean  that  John  Parver,  the  author  of  this  book, 
has  utilized  the  events  which  took  place  at  Horriston 
in  1866  for  the  purpose  of  writing  a  work  of  fiction. 
The  story  you  tell  me  is  told  in  these  pages,  and  your 
family  tragedy  is  the  talk  of  literary  London." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

TRUTH    IS    STRANGER    THAN    FICTION. 

This  astonishing  statement  was  received  by  Claude 
with  a  disbeUeving  smile;  and  so  convinced  was  he  of 
its  untruth  that  he  affected  anger  at  what  he  really- 
believed  to  be  the  flippancy  of  Tait's  conduct. 

"  It  is  no  doubt  very  amusing  for  you  to  ridicule  my 
story,"  said  he,  with  cold  dignity,  "but  it  is  hardly  the 
act  of  a  friend.  Some  matters  are  too  serious  to  form 
the  subject  of  a  jest;  and  this " 

"lam  not  jesting,"  interrupted  Tait  eagerly.  "I 
assure  you  that  the  tragedy  which  concerned  your 
parents  forms  the  subject-matter  of  this  novel.  You 
can  read  the  book  yourself,  and  so  be  convinced  that  I 
am  speaking  the  truth.  The  names  and  places  are  no 
doubt  fictional,  but  the  whole  story  is  narrated  plainly 
enough. " 

Larcher  turned  over  the  three  volumes  with  a  puzzled 
expression.  That  a  story  with  which  he  had  only 
become  acquainted  within  the  last  twenty-four  hours 
should  be  printed  in  a  book,  and  that  the  book  itself 
should  be  brought  so  speedily  under  his  notice,  seemed 
to  him  quite  inexplicable.  The  strangeness  of  the 
occurrence  paralyzed  his  will,  and,  contrary  to  his 
usual  self-dependence,  he  looked  to  Tait  for  guidance. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  it  ?  "  he  asked  irresolutely. 

45 


46  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

"Ah!  That  requires  some  consideration,  my  friend. 
But  before  we  go  into  the  matter  let  us  understand  our 
position  toward  each  other.  You  believe  this  story  of 
your  father's  death  ?  " 

"Certainly.  Mr.  Hilliston  would  not  tell  me  an 
untruth,  and  moreover  this  bundle  of  extracts  from 
provincial  newspapers  confirms  his  statement.  I  truly 
believe  that  my  father,  George  Larcher,  was  murdered 
at  Horriston  in  1866  by — and  there  you  have  me — I 
know  not  by  whom.  My  own  opinion  is  that  Jering- 
ham  is " 

"One  moment,  Claude!  Let  us  settle  all  prelimi- 
naries.    Are  you  resolved  to  take  up  this  matter!  " 

"  I  am!  I  must  clear  the  memory  of  my  mother,  and 
avenge  the  death  of  my  father. " 

"Would  it  not  be  better  to  let  sleeping  dogs  lie?" 
suggested  Tait,  with  some  hesitation. 

"I  do  not  think  so,"  replied  Claude  quietly.  "I 
am  not  a  sentimental  man,  as  you  know;  and  my 
nature  is  of  too  practical  a  kind  to  busy  itself  with 
weaving  ropes  of  sand.  Yet  in  this  instance  I  feel  that 
it  is  my  duty  to  hunt  down  and  punish  the  coward  who 
killed  my  father.  When  I  find  him,  and  punish  him, 
this  ghost  of  '66  will  be  laid  aside;  otherwise,  it  will 
continue  to  haunt  and  torture  me  all  my  life." 

"  But  your  business  ?  " 

"I  shall  lay  aside  my  business  till  this  matter  is 
settled  to  my  satisfaction.  As  you  know,  I  have  a 
private  income,  and  am  not  compelled  to  work  for 
my  daily  bread.  Moreover,  the  last  four  years  have 
brought  me  in  plenty  of  money,  so  that  I  can  afford  to 
indulge  my  fancy.  And  my  fancy,"  added  Claude  in  a 
grim  tone,  "is  to  dedicate  the  rest  of  my  life  to  dis- 


TRUTH  IS  STRANGER    THAN  FICTION.  47 

covering   the     truth.       Do    you     not   approve   of   my 
decision  ?" 

"  Yes,  and  no,"  said  Tait  evasively.  "  I  think  your 
hunt  for  an  undescribed  criminal,  whose  crime  dates 
back  twenty-five  years,  is  rather  a  waste  of  time.  All 
clews  must  have  disappeared.  It  seems  hopeless  for 
you  to  think  of  solving  the  mystery.  And  if  you  do," 
continued  the  little  man  earnestly,  "  if  you  do,  what 
possible  pleasure  can  you  derive  from  such  a  solution  ? 
Your  father  is  a  mere  name  to  you,  so  filial  love  can 
have  nothing  to  do  with  the  matter.  Moreover,  the 
criminal  may  be  dead — he  may  be " 

"You  have  a  thousand  and  one  objections,"  said 
Larcher  impatiently,  "none  of  which  have  any  weight 
with  me.  I  am  in  the  hands  of  Fate.  A  factor  has 
entered  into  my  life  which  has  changed  my  future. 
Knowing  what  I  now  know,  I  cannot  rest  until  I  learn 
the  truth.  Do  you  know  the  story  of  Mozart  ? "  he 
added  abruptly. 

"  I  know  several  stories  of  Mozart.  But  this  special 
one  I  may  not  know." 

"  It  is  told  either  of  Mozart  or  Mendelssohn!  I  for- 
get which,"  pursued  Larcher,  half  to  himself.  "When 
Mozart — let  us  say  Mozart — was  ill  in  bed,  one  of  his 
friends  struck  a  discord  on  the  piano,  which  required 
what  is  technically  known  as  a  resolution  for  its  com- 
pletion. The  omission  so  tortured  the  sensitive  ear  of 
the  musician  that,  when  his  friend  departed,  he  rose 
from  his  bed  and  completed  the  discord  in  accordance 
with  musical  theory.  Till  that  was  done  he  could  not 
rest." 

"And  the  point  of  your  parable  ?" 

"Can  you  not  see ?     This  incomplete  case  of  murder 


48  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

is  my  discord.  I  must  complete  it  by  discovering  the 
criminal,  and  so  round  off  the  case,  or  submit  to  be 
tortured  by  its  hinted  mystery  all  my  life.  It  is  not 
filial  love,  it  is  not  sentiment,  it  is  not  even  curiosity, 
it  is  simply  a  desire  to  complete  a  matter  hitherto  left 
undone.  Till  I  know  the  sequel  to  the  Horriston 
tragedy,  I  shall  feel  in  a  state  of  suspense — and  sus- 
pense," added  Claude  emphatically,  "is  torture  to 
men  of  my  temperament." 

"Your  reason  is  a  trifle  whimsical,"  said  Tait,  smil- 
ing at  the  application  of  this  musical  theory  to  the 
present  instance,  "but  I  can  understand  your  feelings. 
Indeed,  I  feel  the  same  way  myself" 

"You.'" 

"Why  not  ?  In  reading  'A  Whim  of  Fate,'  I  could 
not  go  to  rest  without  knowing  the  end,  and  I  feel 
a  like  curiosity  toward  this  tragedy  of  real  life.  I 
shall  not  be  content  till  I  learn  the  truth.  My  feel- 
ings are  precisely  the  same  as  your  own.  Therefore," 
pursued  Tait,  with  emphasis,  "I  propose  to  assist  you 
in  your  search.  We  will  discuss  the  matter  calmly, 
and  see  what  is  best  to  be  done.  In  spite  of  the  lapse 
of  five-and-twenty  years,  who  knows  but  what  we 
may  lay  hands  on  the  murderer  of  your  father,  who  is 
no  doubt  now  living  in  fancied  security." 

"  Unless  he  is  dead." 

"Who  is  making  the  objections  now?"  said  Tait, 
smiling.  "Well,  Claude,  will  you  accept  me  as  your 
brother  detective  in  this  matter  .?" 

"Willingly,  and  I  thank  you  for  this  proof  of  your 
friendship," 

"I  am  afraid  there  is  an  element  of  selfishness  mixed 
up  in  my  offer,"  said  Tait,   shrugging  his  shoulders. 


TRUTH  IS  STRANGER    THAN  FICTION.  49 

**  It  is  not  every  day  that  one  can  find  an  interesting 
case  like  this  to  dissect.  Excitement  is  the  joy  of  life, 
and  I  rather  think  we  will  be  able  to  extract  a  great 
deal  from  this  investigation.  Come!  We  now  under- 
stand one  another." 

Larcher  grasped  the  hand  held  out  to  him,  and 
gratefully  accepted  the  aid  thus  offered.  From  that 
moment  the  two  dedicated  themselves  to  hunt  down 
the  criminal  at  whose  hands  George  Larcher  had  met 
his  death.  It  was  as  strange  a  compact  as  had  ever 
been  made.  Halting  Nemesis,  who  had  rested  all 
these  years,  once  more  resumed  her  stealthy  progress, 
and  before  her  ran  these  two  young  men,  as  ministers 
of  her  long-delayed  revenge.  This  junction  of  unfore- 
seen circumstances  savored  of  the  dramatic. 

"The  first  thing  to  be  done,"  said  Tait,  when  the 
compact  was  thus  concluded,  "is  to  read  both  cases." 

"Both  cases!  "  repeated  Claude  curiously. 

"Yes!  You  remember  how  Browning  gives  half  a 
dozen  aspects  of  the  same  case  in  his  *  Ring  and  the 
Book.'  In  a  minor  degree  we  benefit  in  the  same 
manner.  There,"  said  Tait,  pointing  to  the  roll  of 
newspapers,  "is  the  case  from  the  real  point  of  view, 
and  here,  in  these  three  volumes,  we  will  find  the  same 
case  as  considered  in  a  fictional  fashion  by  the  novelist. 
By  reading  both  we  may  come  to  some  conclusion 
whence  to  start  in  our  talk.  Last  night  you  read  the 
newspapers;  I  the  novel.  To-day  we  will  reverse  the 
process.  I  will  view  the  affair  as  set  forth  by  the 
provincial  press,  and  you  will  devour  the  three 
volumes   of   John    Parver   as    I    did    last    night." 

"  And  afterward  ?" 

"Eh!     Who  can  say?"  replied  Tait,  shrugging  his 


50  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

shoulders.  Several  sojourns  in  Paris  had  left  their 
trace  in  Gallic  gestures,  and  possibly  in  Gallic  flip- 
pancy. "We  must  know  what  foundation  we  have 
before  we  build." 

Claude  nodded.  He  was  of  the  same  way  of  think- 
ing himself,  and  commented  on  his  friend's  speech 
after  his  own  fashion. 

"Yes,"  said  he  a  trifle  vindictively,  "we  must  build 
our  gallows  stanch  and  strong.  You  can  proceed 
with  your  toilet,  and  afterward  we  will  read  novels  and 
newspapers,  as  you  suggest.  The  result  of  our  read- 
ing must  appear  in  our  actions.  I  rather  think,"  he 
added  slowly,  "that  the  result  will  be  a  visit  to  Mr. 
HilUston." 

"Without  doubt.  He  was  an  eye-witness,  and  it  is 
always  preferable  to  obtain  evidence  first  hand." 

"Then,"  said  Claude  reflectively,  "there  is  Mrs. 
Bezel." 

"  Quite  so  !  The  enterprising  lady  who  started  the 
whole  thing.     Was  she  also  an  eye-witness  ? " 

"I  can't  say.  Her  name  does  not  appear  in  the 
newspapers." 

"Humph!"  muttered  Tait,  scratching  his  chin. 
"  Nor  in  those  three  volumes  can  I  find  a  character 
likely  to  develop  into  Mrs.  Bezel  of  Hampstead." 

"I  wonder  who  she  can  be,"  said  Claude  curiously, 
"or  what  she  can  have  to  do  with  the  case." 

"That  we  must  find  out.  Depend  upon  it,  there  is 
more  in  this  case  than  in  newspapers  or  novel.  We 
must  find  out  all  about  Mrs.  Bezel,  and,"  said  Tait, 
with  emphasis,  "we  must  learn  all  that  is  to  be 
learned    concerning  John    Parver." 

"Who   is  John    Parver?" 


TRUTH  IS  STRANGER    THAN  FICTION.  51 

"Who  was  the  Man  in  the  Iron  Mask?"  replied 
Tait,  in  a  bantering  tone.  "  I  cannot  say.  But  whom- 
soever he  may  be,  he  knows  all  about  this  case." 

"There  is  that  possibility,  certainly,"  assented  the 
other  smoothly,  ' '  but  I  think  it  hardly  likely.  A  man  of 
to-day  would  not  readily  come  across  the  account  of  a 
tragedy  occurring  in  a  little  known  town  twenty-five 
years  ago.  Do  you  know,"  he  added,  after  a  pause, 
"that  it  occurs  to  me  that  the  publication  of  this 
book,  containing  an  account  of  the  case,  may  have  been 
the  cause  which  incited  Mrs.  Bezel  to  write  the  letter." 

"I  thought  so  myself.  Mrs.  Bezel  may  think  that 
John  Parver  is  a  nom  de  plume  assumed  by  Claude 
Larcher." 

"  Or  another  alternative.  Mrs.  Bezel  may  be  John 
Parver  herself,  It  is  the  fashion  nowadays  for  women 
to  write  under  the  names  of  men." 

There  was  a  few  minutes'  silence,  during  which  each 
man  was  intent  on  his  own  thoughts.  Tait,  whose 
brain  turned  quicker  than  that  of  Larcher,  was  the  first 
to  break  the  silence. 

"  Well,"  said  he,  moving  briskly  toward  his  bedroom 
door,  "before  we  can  say  or  do  anything  we  must 
learn  the  facts  of  the  case." 

As  he  vanished  into  his  room  Claude  laid  his  hand 
on  the  first  of  the  three  volumes. 


CHAPTER  VII. 


"  LET    SLEEPING     DOGS    LIE. 


On  the  journey  of  life  we  sometimes  come  to  a  dead 
stop.  Obstacles  arise  which  bar  our  further  progress, 
and  circumstances,  impossible  to  do  away  with,  con- 
front us  on  all  sides.  We  cannot  go  back,  for  in  life 
there  is  no  retrogression;  we  cannot  proceed,  owing  to 
blocked  paths,  and  so  stand  hopeless  and  powerless, 
waiting  for  the  word  or  action  of  Fate.  She,  unseen 
but  almighty  deity,  alone  can  remove  the  hindrance 
which  prevents  our  progress,  and  until  she  speaks  or 
acts,  we  can  do  nothing  but  wait.  It  is  on  such  occa- 
sions that  we  feel  how  truly  we  are  the  puppets  of 
some  unknown  power. 

Francis  Hilliston  had  arrived  at  some  such  stoppage. 
Hitherto  his  keen  brain,  his  strong  will,  his  capability 
for  decisive  action,  had  carried  him  onward  from  past 
to  present,  through  present  to  future.  When  obstacles 
had  arisen  they  had  been  easily  swept  away,  and  with 
his  own  life  in  his  hands,  he  was  perfectly  satisfied  of 
his  power  to  mold  it  to  his  liking.  Possibly  Fate,  who 
is  a  somewhat  jealous  deity,  felt  angered  at  the  ego- 
tistic self-reliance  of  the  man;  for  without  warning  she 
brought  him  to  a  dead  stop,  then  grimly  waited  to  see 
how  his  boasted  cunning  would  outwit  her.  .  As  she 
probably  foresaw,  the  man  did  nothing  but  await  her 
decision.     It  was  the  only  thing  he  could  do, 

52 


''LET  SLEEPING  DOGS  LIE."  53 

For  five-and-twenty  years  the  Horriston  tragedy  had 
been  unmentioned,  unthought  of;  Hilliston  deemed 
that  it  was  relegated  to  the  category  of  unknown 
crimes,  and  having  in  mind  his  friendship  for  the 
parents,  and  his  love  for  the  son,  was  not  unwilling 
that  it  should  be  so.  He  did  not  wish  Claude  to  know 
of  the  matter,  he  was  not  desirous  that  he  should  come 
in  contact  with  Mrs.  Bezel;  and  hitherto  had  managed 
so  well  that  neither  contingency  had  eventuated.  Con- 
gratulating himself  on  his  dexterity,  he  remained 
lulled  in  fancied  security,  when  Fate,  observant  of  his 
complacency,  sent  a  bolt  from  the  blue,  and  brought 
him  up  short.  Now,  Hilliston,  forced  by  circumstances 
to  tell  the  truth  to  Larcher,  did  not  know  what  to  do. 
He  could  only  wait  for  the  fiat  of  the  higher  power. 

Grimly  satisfied  that  she  had  brought  home  his  fault, 
and  had  shown  him  his  moral  weakness,  Fate  made 
the  next  move,  and  sent  Larcher  and  his  friend  to 
Lincoln's  Inn  Fields  to  again  set  Hilliston  on  his  former 
journey.  The  paralysis  of  will  which  had  seized  the 
elder  man  did  not  extend  to  the  younger;  for  Claude 
arrived  full  of  anxiety  to  begin  the  search  for  the 
undiscovered  criminal.  The  first  result  of  his  compact 
with  Tait  was  this  visit  to  the  lawyer. 

"  Claude  Larcher;  Spenser  Tait,"  muttered  Hillison, 
glancing  at  the  cards  brought  in  by  his  clerk.  "I 
thought  as  much;  the  matter  is  out  of  my  hands  now. 
Show  the  gentlemen  in,"  he  added  sharply. 

The  clerk  departed,  and  Hilliston  walked  quickly 
to  the  window,  where  he  stood  biting  his  nails.  All 
geniality  had  vanished  from  his  face;  he  looked  older 
than  his  years,  and  an  unaccustomed  frown  wrinkled 
his  expansive  forehead.     A  crisis  had  come  which  he 


54  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

knew  not  how  to  meet;  so,  after  the  fashion  of  men 
when  they  feel  thus  helpless,  he  left  the  decision  in 
the  hands  of  Fate.  Which  was  precisely  what  Fate 
wanted. 

"Good-morning,  Claude!  Good-morning,  Mr. 
Tait  !  "  said  Hilliston,  welcoming  the  young  men  with 
artificial  enthusiasm.  "I  expected  to  see  you  to- 
day." 

"Surely  you  did  not  expect  to  see  me  ?"  said  Tait, 
in  a  silky  tone,  as  he  placed  his  hat  on  the  table. 

"Indeed,  I  did!  Where  Damon  is  Phintias  is  sure  to 
be.  That  Claude's  perusal  of  those  papers  would 
result  in  your  accompanying  him  to  this  office,  I  felt 
sure.     I  was  right.     Here  you  are!  " 

Mr.  Hilliston  affected  a  cheerfulness  he  was  far  from 
feeling.  With  increasing  age  a  distaste  had  come  for 
violent  excitements,  and  with  one  of  Claude's  tempera- 
ment he  knew  that  the  chances  were  that  the  ensuing 
quarter  of  an  hour  would  be  somewhat  stirring.  Con- 
trary to  his  expectations,  however,  Larcher  was  eager, 
but  calm,  and  Hilliston,  assuring  himself  that  the  calm- 
ness was  genuine,  began  to  hope  that  the  interview 
would  pass  off  better  than  he  expected.  Still,  none  of 
us  like  to  reopen  a  disagreeable  chapter  of  the  book 
of  life,  and  this  Mr.  Hilliston,  against  his  will  and 
inclination,  was  about  to  do. 

"Well,  sir,"  said  Claude,  when  they  were  all  seated, 
and  the  hush  of  expectancy  was  in  the  air,  "I  have 
read  those  papers." 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Hilliston  interrogatively;  "and 
what  do  you  think  of  the  matter  ? " 

"I  think  it  is  a  very  black  case." 

"You  are  quite  right,  Claude.     It  is  a  very  black 


''LET  SLEEPING  DOGS  LIE."  55 

case   indeed.      I   did   all    in    my   power  to    bring   the 
criminal  to  justice,  but  without  success." 

"Who  is  the  criminal  ?  "  asked  Larcher,  with  a  keen 
glance  at  his  guardian. 

Hilliston  shuffled  his  feet  uneasily,  by  no  means  rel- 
ishing the  directness  of  the  question. 

"That  is  a  difficult  question  to  answer,"  he  said 
slowly;  "in  fact  an  impossible  one.  My  suspicions 
point  to  Jeringham." 

From  this  point  Tait  made  a  third  in  the  conver- 
sation. 

"That  is  because  Jeringham  disappeared  on  the 
night   of   the   murder,"    he   said   leisurely. 

"Yes.  I  think  that  circumstance  alone  is  very 
suspicious." 

"He    was    never    found   again?" 

"Never.  We  advertised  in  all  the  papers;  we 
employed  detectives,  inquired  privately,  but  all  to  no 
result.  The  last  person  who  saw  Jeringham  was  Mrs. 
Larcher.  He  parted  from  her  at  the  door  of  The 
Laurels,  and  vanished  into  the  night.  It  still  hides 
him." 

"What  do  you  conclude  from  that,  sir?"  asked 
Claude,  after  a  pause. 

"I  can  only  conclude  one  thing,"  replied  Hilliston, 
with  great  deliberation,  "that  your  father,  suspicious  of 
Jeringham,  returned  on  that  night  from  London,  and 
saw  the  parting.  The  result  is  not  difficult  to  foresee. 
It  is  my  own  opinion  that  there  were  words  between 
the  men,  possibly  a  struggle,  and  that  the  matter 
ended  in  the  murder  of  your  father  by  Jeringham. 
Hence  the  discovery  of  the  body  thrown  into  the  river, 
hence  the  flight  of  the  murderer." 


56  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

"  Was  this  the  generally  received  opinion  at  the 
time  ?  " 

"  Yes.  I  can  safely  say  that  it  was  believed  Jering- 
ham  was  guilty,  and  had  fled  to  escape  the  conse- 
quences of  his  crime." 

"In  that  case,  how  was  it  that  Mrs.  Larcher  was 
arrested  ? "  asked  Tait  skeptically. 

"You  cannot  have  read  the  case  carefully,  to  ask  me 
that,"  replied  Hilliston  sharply.  "She  was  arrested 
on  the  evidence  of  the  dagger.  Without  doubt  the 
crime  was  committed  with  the  dagger,  and  as  she  had 
worn  it,  the  inference  was  drawn  that  she  was  the 
guilty  person.  But  she  was  acquitted,  and  left  the 
court — as  the  saying  is — without  a  stain  on  her 
character." 

"  Nevertheless  she  died,  Mr.  Hilliston." 

"Shame  killed  her,"  said  the  lawyer  sadly.  "She 
was  a  foolish  woman  in  many  ways, — your  pardon, 
Claude,  for  so  speaking, — but  she  was  not  the  woman 
to  commit  so  foul  a  crime.  Indeed,  I  believe  she  was 
fondly  attached  to  her  husband  till  Jeringham  came 
between  them." 

"Ah!"  interposed  Tait  composedly,  "that  is  John 
Parver's  view." 

"John  Parver?"  repeated  Hilliston,  with  well-bred 
surprise.  "I  do  not  know  that  name  in  connection 
with  the  case." 

"  Nor  do  we  know  the  name  of  Mrs.  Bezel,"  said 
Claude  quickly. 

Hilliston  started,  and  looked  at  Claude  as  though  he 
would  read  his  very  soul.  The  inscrutability  of  the 
young  man's  countenance  baffled  him,  and  he  turned 
off  the  remark  with  a  dry  laugh. 


''LET  SLEEPING  DOGS  LIE."  57 

"■  With  Mrs.  Bezel  we  will  deal  hereafter,"  he  said 
shortly;  "  but  who  is  this  John  Parver  !  " 

"He  is  the  author  of  a  book  called  '  A  Whim  of 
Fate."* 

''A  novel?" 

*'Yes.  A  novel  which  embodies  the  whole  of  this 
case." 

"That  is  strange,"  said  Hilliston  quietly,  "but  no 
doubt  the  author  has  come  across  the  details  in  some 
old  provincial  journal,  and  made  use  of  them.  The 
Larcher  affair  caused  a  great  deal  of  talk  at  the  time, 
but  it  is  certainly  remarkable  that  a  novelist  should 
have  made  use  of  it  for  fictional  purposes  after  the 
lapse  of  so  many  years.  I  must  read  the  book.  Just 
note  the  name  of  it  here,  Mr.  Tait,  if  you  please." 

Tait  did  so,  and  Hilliston  continued: 

"  Is  my  character  in  the  book  ? " 

"I  think  so.      Under  the  name  of  Michael  Dene!" 

"  I  trust  the  author  has  been  flattering  to  me.  By 
the  way,  who  does  he  say  committed  the  crime  ?  " 

"  Michael  Dene." 

Hilliston  went  gray  on  the  instant,  as  though  a  sud- 
den blow  had  been  struck  at  his  heart.  Two  pairs  of 
keen  eyes  were  fixed  on  his  face  with  some  surprise, 
and  uneasy  at  the  scrutiny,  he  strove  to  recover  his 
composure. 

"Upon  my  word,"  he  said,  with  quivering  lips,  "I 
am  infinitely  obliged  to  John  Parver  for  describing 
me  as  a  murderer.  And  what  motive  does  he  ascribe 
to  me,  or  rather  to  Michael  Dene,  for  the  committal  of 
the  crime  ? " 

"  Love  for  the  wife,"  said  Tait,  smiling. 

"Eh!     That   is   rather    the   role   of    Jeringham,    I 


58  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

should  say,"  replied  Hilliston,  the  color  coming  back 
to  lips  and  cheek.  "  I  must  read  this  novel,  and  if 
possible  discover  the  identity  of  the  author." 

"Oh,  we  will  do  that!  " 

*'  Claude!  "  cried  the  lawyer,  in  astonishment. 

"  I  and  Tait.  We  intend  to  follow  out  this  case  to 
the  end." 

"  It  is  useless!     Five-and-twenty  years  have  elapsed. " 

"  Nevertheless,  I  am  determined  to  hunt  down  the 
murderer  of  my  father,"  said  Claude  decisively. 
"Besides,  we  have  two  eye-witnesses  to  the  tragedy. 
Yourself  and  Mrs.  Bezel." 

"Ah!  Mrs.  Bezel!  I  forgot  her.  Certainly,  I  will 
do  all  in  my  power  to  help  you,  Claude.  Your  father 
was  my  dearest  friend,  and  I  shall  only  be  too  glad  to 
avenge  his  fate.  But  if  I  could  not  do  it  at  the 
moment,  how  can  I  hope  to  do  so  now — after  so  long  a 
period  has  elapsed  ?  " 

"  Leave  that  to  us,  sir.  Tait  and  I  will  attend  to 
the  active  part  of  the  business.  All  we  ask  you  to  do 
is  to  give  us  such  information  as  lies  in  your  power." 

"I  will  do  that  with  pleasure,"  said  Hilliston,  who 
by  this  time  was  thoroughly  master  of  himself. 
"What  is  it  you  wish  to  know." 

"We  wish  to  know  all  about  Mrs.  Bezel.  Who  is 
she  ?  What  has  she  to  do  with  the  case  ?  Why  is  not 
her  name  mentioned  in  these  pages  ?" 

' '  For  answers  to  these  questions  you  had  better  apply 
to  the  lady  herself.  You  have  her  address.  Why  not 
call  on  her  ? " 

"  I  intend  to  do  so  to-morrow." 

The  old  man  rose  from  his  seat,  and  took  a  turn  up 
and  down  the  room.     Then  he  paused  beside  Claude, 


''LET  SLEEPING  DOGS  LIE."  59 

and    laid    a    trembling    hand    on    the    young    man's 
shoulder. 

"  I  have  been  a  good  friend  to  you,  Claude." 
"You  have  been  my  second  father — my  real  father," 
said    Larcher    gently.       "I    shall    never   forget    your 
kindness.     I  would  return  it  if  I  could." 
"  Then  do  so,  by  letting  sleeping  dogs  lie." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that,  Mr.  Hilliston  ?"  asked 
the  other,  with  a  subtle  change  in  his  tone. 

"Abandon  this  case.  Do  not  call  on  Mrs.  Bezel. 
You  can  do  no  good  by  reopening  the  affair.  It  was 
a  mystery  years  ago,  it  is  a  mystery  still;  it  will 
remain  a  mystery  till  the  end  of  time." 

"  Not  if  I  can  help  it.  I  am  sorry  to  disoblige  you, 
sir,  but  my  mind  is  made  up.  I  am  determined  to  find 
out  the  truth." 

Hilliston  sighed,  passed  his  hand  across  his  fore- 
head, and  returned  to  his  seat,  hopeless  and  baffled. 
He  was  sufficiently  acquainted  with  Claude's  char- 
acter to  know  that  he  was  not  easily  turned  from 
his  purpose,  and  that  his  resolution  to  solve  the  mys- 
tery would  be  resolutely  carried  out.  Yet  he  made 
one  more  attempt  to  bend  the  young  man  to  his 
will. 

"  If  you  are  wise  you  will  not  call  on  Mrs.  Bezel." 

"Why  not,  sir?" 

"It  will  give  you  great  pain." 

"All  my  pain  is  past,"  replied  Claude  quickly. 
"I  can  suffer  no  more  than  I  did  when  reading  these 
papers.  I  must  call  on  Mrs.  Bezel;  I  must  know  the 
truth,  and,"  added  he  significantly,  "I  have  your 
promise  to  assist  me." 

I   will   do   all  in  my  power,"    answered   Hilliston 


a 


6o  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

wearily,  "but  you  do  not  know  what  are  you  doing. 
I  am  older  and  more  experienced  than  you,  and  I  give 
you  my  best  advice.  Do  not  see  Mrs.  Bezel,  and  leave 
the  Larcher  affair  alone." 

The  result  of  this  well-meant  advice  was  that  Claude 
called  the  next  morning  on  Mrs.  Bezel. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

BOTH    SIDES    OF    THE    QUESTION. 

Man's  life  has  frequently  been  compared  to  a  river. 
In  childhood  it  is  a  trickling  thread,  in  youth  a  stream, 
in  manhood  a  majestic  river,  and  finally  in  old  age  is 
swallowed  up  in  the  ocean  of  death.  A  very  pretty 
parable,  but  somewhat  stale.  It  is  time  that  life  was 
indicated  by  a  new  metaphor.  Let  us  therefore  com- 
pare the  life  of  man  to  the  ocean  itself.  Like  the 
ocean  life  has  its  calms  and  storms,  its  sullen  rages, 
its  caressing  moments;  and  like  the  ocean — for  this 
is  the  main  point  of  the  illustration — it  has  its  pro- 
found depths,  containing  a  hundred  secrets  unknown 
to  the  outer  world.  Francis  Hilliston  was  like  the 
ocean:  all  knew  the  surface,  few  were  acquainted  with 
the  depths  below. 

A  man  who  leads  a  double  life  need  never  feel  dull. 
He  may  be  nervous,  anxious,  fearful  lest  his  secret 
should  be  discovered,  but  the  constant  vigilance 
required  to  hide  it  preserves  him  from  the  curse  of 
ennui.  He  ever  keeps  the  best  side  of  his  nature 
uppermost;  his  smiles  are  for  the  world,  his  brow  is 
smoothed  to  lull  suspicion.  But  to  continue  the  simile 
of  the  ocean:  in  the  depths  lie  many  terrible  things 
which  never  come  to  the  surface;  things  which  he 
scarcely  dare  admit  even  to  himself.  Francis  Hilliston 
was  one  of  these  men. 

6i 


62  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

Everyone  knew  Hilliston  of  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields, 
or  thought  they  did,  which  is  quite  a  different  thing. 
He  was  widely  respected  in  the  profession;  he  was 
popular  in  society;  hand  and  glove  with  prominent 
and  wealthy  personages.  His  house  at  Kensington 
Gore  was  richly  furnished;  his  wife  was  handsome 
and  fashionable;  he  gave  splendid  entertainments,  at 
which  none  was  more  jocund  than  the  host  himself;  he 
was,  outwardly,  all  that  was  prosperous  and  popular. 
In  his  professional  capacity  he  was  the  repository  of 
a  thousand  secrets,  but  of  all  these  none  was  more 
terrible   than  the    one   locked  up  in  his  own  breast. 

Long  years  of  training,  constant  necessity,  had 
taught  him  how  to  control  his  emotions,  to  turn  his 
face  into  a  mask  of  inscrutability;  yet  he  succeeded 
ill  at  times,  as  witness  his  interview  with  the  two 
young  men.  Not  all  his  powers  of  self-repression 
could  keep  his  face  from  turning  gray;  nor  prevent 
the  perspiration  beading  his  brow;  nor  steady  his 
voice  to  well-bred  indifference.  Usually  he  succeeded 
in  masking  his  emotion;  this  time  he  had  failed,  and, 
worst  of  all,  he  knew  that  he  had  failed. 

It  was  not  Claude  that  he  feared,  for  the  young  man 
was  not  of  a  suspicious  nature;  and  even  had  he  been 
so,  would  certainly  have  scoffed  at  the  idea  of  attribut- 
ing any  evil  to  the  one  who  had  been  to  him  a  father. 
Tait,  silent,  observant,  and  cynical,  was  the  person  to 
be  dreaded.  Accustomed  by  his  profession  to  read 
faces,  Hilliston  had  seen  that  the  quiet  little  man  was 
possessed  of  one  of  those  inquisitive  penetrative 
natures,  which  suspect  all  men,  and  from  a  look,  a 
gesture,  a  pause,  can  draw  evidence  to  support  any 
suspicion  they  may  entertain. 


BOTH  SIDES  OF    THE   QUESTION.  63 

Certainly  Tait  had  no  reason  to  distrust  Hilliston 
when  he  entered  the  room,  but  during  the  interview 
he  appeared  dissatisfied  with  the  lawyer's  manner. 
That  Hilliston  should  attempt  to  dissuade  Claude  from 
prosecuting  a  search  for  his  father's  murderer  seemed 
strange;  but  that  he  should  betray  such  marked  agita- 
tion at  the  idea  of  such  searching  taking  place  was 
stranger  still.  Altogether  Tait  left  the  office  in  a  very 
dissatisfied  state  of  mind.  Hilliston  had  sufficient 
penetration  to  note  this,  and  when  left  alone  was  at  his 
wit's  end  how  to  baffle  the  unwarrantable  curiosity  of 
this  intruder. 

'*  I  don't  mind  Claude,"  he  said,  pacing  up  and  down 
the  room,  "  he  has  not  sufficient  brain  power  to  find 
out  anything.  I  do  not  want  him  to  know.  But  this 
Tait  is  dangerous.  He  is  one  of  those  dogged  crea- 
tures, who  puts  his  nose  to  the  scent,  and  never 
leaves  the  trail  till  the  prey  is  captured.  It  is  with 
him  I  have  to  deal,  not  with  Claude." 

His  agitation  almost  mastered  him,  and  he  hurriedly 
took  a  small  bottle  from  a  drawer  in  his  desk.  Drop- 
ping the  contents  of  this  into  a  glass  of  water,  he 
drank  off  the  draught,  and  in  a  short  space  of  time 
regained  his  composure,  in  some  measure.  Then  he 
sat  down  to  think,  and  plot,  and  plan  how  to  baffle  the 
vigilance  of  Tait. 

"  That  infernal  woman  has  done  it  all,"  he  muttered 
savagely;  "she  has  lighted  the  fire.  Let  us  see  how 
she  will  put  it  out.  But  she  cannot  put  it  out,"  he 
added,  striking  his  forehead  with  his  clenched  fist;  "it 
will  blaze  and  burn.     I  shall  burn  with  it  unless " 

There  was  a  strange  smile  on  his  lips,  as  an  idea 
entered  his  mind,  and  he  glanced  quickly  at  his  watch. 


64  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

"  Four  o'clock.  Claude  can't  possibly  call  on 
Margaret  to-day,  so  I  have  yet  time  to  prepare  her 
for  his  visit.  I  must  silence  her  at  any  cost.  She 
must  hold  her  tongue  or  ruin  us  both.  Great  Heavens ! 
to  think  that  she  should  break  out  like  this  after  five- 
and-twenty  years.      It  is  enough  to  drive  me  mad." 

By  this  time  he  had  put  on  his  gloves,  and  stretched 
his  hand  toward  his  hat,  which  stood  on  a  side  table. 
A  glance  in  the  glass  showed  him  how  old  and  gray 
he  looked,  and  the  sight  was  so  unexpected  that  he 
started  in  dismay. 

"Bah!  I  look  as  though  I  were  going  to  fail,"  he 
said  to  himself,  "but  I  must  not  fail.  I  dare  not  fail. 
At  sixty,  rich,  honored,  respected,  I  am  not  going  to 
fall  from  the  pedestal  I  have  reached.  I  shall  reassure 
Claude.  I  shall  baffle  Tait.  I  shall  silence  Margaret. 
The  first  move  in  the  game  is  mine." 

Calm,  dignified,  easy,  he  left  his  office,  and  stepped 
into  the  brougham  waiting  at  the  door.  To  judge  by 
appearance,  one  would  have  thought  him  the  most 
respectable  and  upright  man  in  London.  No  one  knew 
what  lurked  behind  that  benevolent  expression.  His 
mask  had  fallen  for  the  moment  when  Tait  was  present; 
now  it  was  on  again,  and  he  went  forth  to  deceive  the 
world.  Yet  he  had  an  uneasy  consciousness  that  one 
man  at  least  guessed  his  real  character. 

"Never  mind,"  he  thought,  as  the  footman  closed 
the  door  of  the  brougham,  "  it  will  be  strange  if,  with 
my  age  and  experience  and  reputation  and  money,  I 
cannot  baffle  him." 

He  did  not  go  direct  home,  as  it  was  yet  early,  and 
he  had  one  or  two  things  to  do  in  connection  with  his 
new  task.     First    he   drove    to  Tait's   chambers,   and 


BOTH  SIDES  OF    THE   QUESTION.  65 

ascertained  from  the  porter  that  the  two  young  men 
were  within. 

"Never  mind  sending  up  my  name,  I  won't  disturb 
them,"  he  said,  when  the  porter  requested  his  card. 
"  I  only  wished  to  speak  to  Mr.  Tait  about  a  box  at 
the  theater." 

"If  it  is  the  Lyceum  you  mean,  sir,  I  have  just  got 
two  stalls  for  Mr.  Tait." 

"Ah!  I  may  see  them  there,"  replied  Hilliston 
negligently;  and  as  he  drove  away  reflected:  "Good! 
They  have  not  yet  been  to  Hampstead;  nor  do  they 
intend  to  go  to-night.  Mr.  Tait  has  yet  to  learn  the 
value  of  time." 

Driving  through  Piccadilly  he  stopped  at  a  book- 
shop, and  with  some  difficulty,  for  the  demand  was 
large,  obtained  a  copy  of  "  A  Whim  of  Fate."  He 
began  to  read  it  in  the  brougham,  and  skimmed  its 
pages  so  rapidly  that  by  the  time  he  reached  Kensing- 
ton Gore  he  had  nearly  finished  the  first  volume.  He 
did  not  recognize  himself  in  the  character  of  Michael 
Dene,  and  became  more  convinced  than  ever  that  the 
coincidence  of  the  Larcher  affair  forming  the  plot  of  a 
novel,  was  due  to  the  author's  reading  the  case  in 
some  old  provincial  newspaper.  On  every  page  it 
betrayed  that,  to  him,  the  story  was  hearsay. 

Fortunately  Mrs.  Hilliston  was  driving  in  the  Park, 
so  the  lawyer  shut  himself  up  in  his  library,  and  went 
on  reading  the  story.  He  did  not  see  his  wife  till 
dinner,  which  took  place  at  eight  o'clock,  and  then 
descended  in  his  ordinary  clothes,  looking  ill  and  pale. 
Something  he  had  read  in  the  novel  had  startled  him 
more  than  he  cared  to  confess — even  to  himself. 

"You  must   excuse   my  dress,  Louise,"  he  said,  on 


66  BOTH  SIDES  OF   THE   QUESTION. 

taking  his  seat,  '*  but  I  have  been  so  engrossed  with  a 
novel  that  I  did  not  hear  the  dressing  bell." 

**It  has  not  had  a  pleasant  effect  on  you,"  replied 
his  wife,  smiling;   "you  do  not  look  at  all  well." 

"  I  am  not  well,"  said  Hilliston,  who  merely  trifled 
with  his  food;  "you  must  excuse  me  going  with  you  to 
the  Lamberts'  to-night,  as  I  think  I  shall  call  in  and  see 
my  doctor." 

"Are  you  so  bad  as  all  that?"  questioned  Mrs. 
Hilliston  anxiously.  "Why  not  send  for  Dr. 
Bland?" 

"I  prefer  going  to  see  him,  Louise.  You  will  prob- 
ably not  be  back  till  three  in  the  morning,  so  I  will  go 
to  bed  immediately  on  my  return.  Have  no  fear,  my 
dear,  it  is  only  a  trifling  indisposition." 

After  these  plain  statements  it  was  rather  strange 
that  Hilliston,  in  place  of  driving  to  Dr.  Bland's,  who 
lived  in  Hill  Street,  should  direct  the  cab,  which  he 
picked  up  by  the  Park  railings,  to  drive  to  Hampstead. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

MRS.     BEZEL. 

One  cannot  always  judge  by  appearances  either  as 
regards  human  beings  or  houses.  Mr.  Hilliston  was 
one  excellent  illustration  of  this  rule;  Clarence  Cottage 
was  another.  It  was  in  a  narrow  and  crooked  lane 
trending  downward  to  the  right,  at  the  summit  of 
Fitzjohn's  Avenue;  an  unpretentious  two-story  build- 
ing, divided  from  the  public  thoroughfare  by  a  well- 
cultivated  garden.  Therein  grew  thyme  and  lav- 
ender, marigolds  and  pansies;  for  the  owner  of  the 
cottage  loved  those  homely  flowers,  and  daily  gazed 
at  them  from  the  bow-window  wherein  her  couch  was 
placed. 

Mrs.  Bezel  never  walked  in  her  garden,  for  the  all- 
sufficient  reason  that  she  was  a  helpless  paralytic,  and 
had  not  used  her  limbs  for  over  ten  years.  Still  a 
moderately  young  woman  of  forty-five,  she  possessed 
the  remains  of  great  beauty,  ravaged  by  years  of  anxiety 
and  mental  trouble.  Those  passing  along  the  lane 
usually  saw  her  pale  face  at  the  window,  and  pitied  the 
sufferings  written  in  every  line;  sufferings  which  were 
apparent  even  to  a  casual  glance.  Noting  the  homely 
garden,  the  mean-looking  dwelling,  the  anxious  expres- 
sion of  the  invalid,  they  deemed  her  to  be  some  poor 
sickly  creature,  the  scapegoat  of  nature  and  the  world, 

67 


68  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

who  had  sought  this  secluded  spot  in  order  to  hide  her 
troubles.     This  view  was  not  entirely  correct. 

She  was  in  ill-health,  it  is  true;  she  dwelt  in  a  small 
house  certainly;  and  the  anxious  expression  was  sel- 
dom absent  from  her  face.  But  she  was  in  easy  cir- 
cumstances, untroubled  by  pecuniary  worries,  and  the 
interior  of  the  cottage  was  furnished  with  a  magnifi- 
cence more  suggestive  of  Park  Lane  than  of  Hamp- 
stead.  The  outward  aspect  of  the  house,  like  that  of 
Mr.  Hilliston,  was  a  lie. 

Her  sitting  room  resembled  the  boudoir  of  some 
Mayfair  beauty.  The  curtains  were  of  silk,  the  carpet 
velvet  pile,  the  walls  were  adorned  with  costly  pictures, 
and  every  corner  of  the  small  apartment  was  filled 
with  sumptuous  furniture.  All  that  art  could  con- 
tribute, all  that  affection  could  suggest,  were  confined 
in  the  tiny  space,  and  had  Mrs.  Bezel  possessed  the 
mines  of  Golconda  she  could  not  have  been  more 
luxuriously  lodged.  The  house  was  a  gem  of  its  kind, 
perfect  and  splendid. 

Mrs.  Bezel  took  little  interest  in  these  material 
comforts.  Her  life  was  passed  between  a  couch  in  the 
bow-window,  a  well-cushioned  chair  by  the  fire,  and  a 
downy  bed  in  the  next  room.  She  had  little  appetite 
and  did  not  enjoy  her  food;  mental  anxiety  prevented 
her  interesting  herself  in  the  splendors  around  her; 
and  the  only  pleasure  she  took  was  her  dreary  journey 
in  a  Bath-chair  when  the  weather  permitted.  Then,  as 
she  inhaled  the  fresh  breeze  blowing  across  the  Heath, 
she  gazed  with  longing  eyes  at  London,  almost  hidden 
under  its  foggy  veil,  far  below,  and  always  returned 
with  reluctance  to  the  familiar  splendors  of  her  narrow 
dwelling.      Fortune  had  given  her  much,  but  by  way 


MRS.    BEZEL.  69 

of  compensation  had  deprived  her  of  the  two  things 
she  most  desired — of  health  and  of  love. 

Even  on  this  warm  June  evening  a  fire  burned  in 
the  grate,  for  Mrs.  Bezel  was  a  chilly  creature,  who 
shrunk  at  the  least  breath  of  wind.  According  to 
custom,  she  had  left  the  window  couch  at  seven 
o'clock,  and  had  taken  her  simple  meal  while  seated 
in  her  large  chair  to  the  right  of  the  fireplace.  After 
dinner  she  took  up  a  novel  which  was  placed  on  a 
small  table  at  her  elbow,  and  tried  to  read;  but  her 
attention  was  not  fixed  on  the  book,  and  gradually  it 
fell  from  her  hands,  while  she  gazed  idly  at  the  fire. 

What  she  saw  therein  Heaven  only  knows.  We  all 
have  our  moments  of  retrospection,  and  can  picture 
the  past  in  the  burning  coals.  Some  even  picture  the 
future,  but  there  was  none  for  this  woman.  She  was 
old,  weary,  diseased,  worn-out,  and  therefore  saw  in 
the  fire  only  the  shadows  of  past  years.  Faces  looked 
out  of  the  flaming  valleys,  scenes  arranged  themselves 
in  the  red  confusion;  but  among  them  all  there  was 
always  one  face,  one  scene,  which  never  vanished  as 
did  the  others.  This  special  face,  this  particular 
scene,  were  fixed,  immovable,  cruel,  and  insistent. 

The  chime  of  the  clock  striking  half-past  nine  roused 
her  from  her  reverie,  and  she  again  addressed  herself 
to  the  novel  with  a  sigh.  Tortured  by  her  own 
thoughts,  Mrs.  Bezel  was  not  accustomed  to  retire 
before  midnight,  and  there  were  nearly  three  hours  to 
be  got  through  before  that  time.  Her  life  was  as 
dreary,  and  weary,  and  heart-breaking  as  that  of 
Mariana  in  the  Moated  Grange. 

The  tread  of  a  firm  footfall  in  the  distance  roused 
her  attention,  and  she  looked  expectantly  toward  the 


7©  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

door,  which  faced  her  chair.  The  newcomer  passed 
up  the  narrow  garden  path,  entered  the  house,  and, 
after  a  pause  in  the  hall,  presented  himself  in  the 
sitting  room.  Mrs.  Bezel  knew  who  it  was  before  the 
door  opened;  for  standing  on  the  threshold  was  the 
man  with  the  face  she  had  lately  pictured  amid  the 
burning  coals.  Francis  Hilliston  and  the  woman  who 
called  herself  Mrs.  Bezel  looked  steadily  at  one 
another,  but  no  sign  of  welcome  passed  between  them. 
He  was  the  first  to  break  the  awkward  silence. 

"How  are  you  this  evening,  Margaret?"  he  asked, 
advancing  toward  her;  ''better,  I  hope.  There  is 
more  color  in  your  cheeks,  more  brightness  in  your 
eyes." 

"  I  am  the  same  as  ever,"  she  replied  coldly,  while 
he  drew  a  chair  close  to  the  fire,  and  stretched  out  his 
hands  to  the  blaze.  "  Why  have  you  come  here  at 
this  hour?" 

"To  see  you." 

"  No  doubt!     But  with  what  purpose  ?" 

Hilliston  pinched  his  nether  lip  between  finger  and 
thumb,  frowning  the  while  at  the  fire.  Whatever  had 
been,  there  was  now  no  love  between  this  woman  and 
himself.  But  on  no  occasion  had  he  noted  so  hostile 
a  tone  in  her  voice.  He  was  aware  that  a  duel  of 
words  and  brains  was  about  to  ensue,  and,  knowing 
his  antagonist,  he  took  the  button  off  his  foil.  There 
was  no  need  for  fine  speaking  or  veiled  hints  in  this 
conversation.  It  was  advisable  that  all  should  be 
plain  and  straightforward,  for  they  knew  each  other 
too  well  to  wear  their  masks  when  alone.  Under  these 
circumstances  he  spoke  the  truth. 

"  I  think  you  can  guess  my  errand,"  he  said  suavely. 


MRS.    BEZEL.  7 1 

"It     concerns     the     letter     you      wrote    to    Claude 
Larcher." 

"I  thought  as  much!  And  what  more  have  you  to 
say  in  connection  with  that  affair  ? " 

"I  have  merely  to  inform  you  that  the  man  whom 
you  desire  to  see  is  in  London,  and  will  no  doubt 
answer  your  kind  invitation  in  person." 

Mrs.  Bezel  stretched  out  her  hand  and  selected  a 
letter  from  the  little  pile  on  her  table. 

"If  you  will  look  at  that,"  she  said  coldly,  "you 
will  see  that  Claude  intends  to  call  on  me  at  three 
o'clock  to-morrow." 

Taking  the  letter  in  silence,  Hilliston  turned  fright- 
fully pale,  and  the  perspiration  stood  in  large  beads  on 
his  forehead.  He  expected  some  such  appointment 
to  be  made,  yet  the  evidence  in  his  hand  startled  him 
all  the  same.  The  promptitude  of  action  spoke  vol- 
umes to  one  of  his  acute  perceptions.  To  defend  his 
good  name  would  require  all  his  skill  and  experience, 
for  he  had  to  do  with  men  of  action,  who  acted  as 
quickly  as  they  thought.  The  duel  would  be  more 
equal  than  he  had  thought. 

"Are  you  still  determined  to  tell  all,"  he  said  in  a 
low  tone,  crushing  the  paper  up  in  his  hand. 

"Yes." 

The  monosyllable  was  uttered  in  so  icy  a  manner 
that  Hilliston  lost  his  temper  completely.  Before  this 
woman  there  was  no  need  for  him  to  retain  his  smiling 
mask,  and  in  a  frenzy  of  rage  he  hurried  into  rapid 
speech,  frantic  and  unconsidered. 

"Ah,  you  would  ruin  me!"  he  cried,  springing  to 
his  feet;  "you  would  drag  up  those  follies  of  '66, 
and  make  London  too  hot  to  hold  me!     Have  I  not 


72  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

implored,  threatened,  beseeched,  commanded — done 
everything  in  my  power  to  make  you  hold  your  peace? 
Miserable  woman,  would  you  drag  the  man  you  love 
down  to " 

"The  man  I  loved  you  mean,"  responded  Mrs. 
Bezel,  in  nowise  moved  by  this  torrent  of  abuse. 
"  Pray  do  not  be  theatrical,  Francis.  You  know  me 
well  enough  to  be  aware  that  when  my  mind  is  made 
up  I  am  not  easily  moved.  A  man  of  your  brains,"  she 
added  scornfully,  "  should  know  that  loss  of  temper  is 
but  the  prelude  to  defeat." 

Recognizing  the  truth  of  this  remark,  Hilliston 
resumed  his  seat,  and  subdued  his  anger.  Only  the 
look  of  hatred  in  his  eyes  betrayed  his  real  feelings; 
otherwise  he  was  calm,  suave,  and  self-controlled. 

"Have  you  weighed  the  cost  of  your  action  ?"  he 
demanded  quietly. 

"Yes.  It  means  ruin  to  us  both.  But  the  loss  is 
yours,  not  mine.  Helpless  and  deserted,  life  has  no 
further  charms  for  me,  but  you,  Mr.  Hilliston,  doubt- 
less feel  differently." 

"Margaret,"  he  said  entreatingly,  "why  do  you 
speak  like  this  ?     What  harm  have  I  done  you  that " 

' '  What  harm !  "  she  interrupted  fiercely.  ' '  Have  you 
not  ruined  me,  have  you  not  deserted  me,  have  you 
not  robbed  me  of  all  that  I  loved  ?  My  life  has  been 
one  long  agony,  and  you  are  to  blame  for  it  all.  Not 
a  word,"  she  continued  imperiously.  *•'  I  shall  speak. 
I  insist  upon  your  knowing  the  truth!  " 

"  Go  on,"  he  said  sullenly;   "  I  listen." 

"I  loved  you  once,  Francis.  I  loved  you  to  my  own 
cost.  For  your  sake  I  lost  everything — position, 
home,  respect,  and  love.     And  you — what  did  you  do?  " 


MRS.    BEZEL.  73 

HilHston  looked  round  the  room,  and  shrugged  his 
shoulders.  Look  and  gesture  were  so  eloquent  that 
she  commented  on  them  at  once. 

'*Do  you  think  I  valued  this  splendor.  I  know  well 
enough  that  you  gave  me  all  material  comforts.  But 
I  wanted  more  than  this.     I  wanted  love." 

"You  had  it." 

''Aye!  I  had  the  passion  such  as  you  call  love.  Did 
it  endure  ?  You  know  well  that  it  did  not.  So  long 
as  I  was  healthy  and  handsome  and  bright  your  atten- 
tions continued,  but  when  I  was  reduced  to  this  state, 
ten  years  ago,  what  did  you  do  ?  Left  me  to  marry 
another  woman." 

''It  was  not  my  fault,"  he  muttered  uneasily;  "my 
affairs  were  involved,  and,  as  my  wife  had  money,  I 
was  forced  to  marry  her." 

"And  you  did  marry  her,  and  no  doubt  neglect  her 
as  you  do  me.  Is  Mrs.  Hilliston  any  happier  in  her 
splendid  house  at  Kensington  Gore  than  I  in  this 
miserable  cottage  ?  I  think  not.  I  waited  and  waited, 
hoping  your  love  would  return.  It  did  not;  so  I  took 
my  own  course — revenge!  " 

"And  so  wrote  to  Claude  Larcher! " 

"Yes.  Listen  to  me.  I  wrote  the  first  letter  on 
the  impulse  of  the  moment.  I  had  been  reading  a 
book  called  'A  Whim  of  Fate,'  which  contained " 

"I  know!     I  know!     I  read  it  myself  this  evening." 

"Then  you  know  that  someone  else  is  possessed  of 
your  secret.     Who  is  John  Parver  ?  " 

"I  don't  know.  I  intend  to  find  out.  Meanwhile 
I  am  waiting  to  hear  the  conclusion  of  your  story." 

Mrs.  Bezel  drew  a  long  breath,  and  continued: 

"The   book,  which    contained   an   account   of    the 


74  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

tragedy  at  Horriston,  brought  the  fact  so  visibly 
before  me  that  I  wrote  on  the  impulse  telling  you 
that  I  wished  to  see  Claude,  and  reveal  all.  You 
came  and  implored  and  threatened.  Then  my  im- 
pulse became  a  fixed  determination.  I  saw  how  I 
could  punish  you  for  your  neglect,  and  so  persisted 
in  my  scheme.  I  wrote  to  Claude,  and  he  is  coming 
here  to-morrow." 

"What  do  you  intend  to  tell  him  ?" 

"  So  much  of  the  death  of  his  father  as  I  know." 

"You  must  not — you  dare  not,"  said  Hilliston,  with 
dry  lips.      "  It  means  ruin  !  " 

"  To  you,  not  to  me." 

"Impossible,"  he  said  curtly.  "Our  relations  are 
too  close  for  one  to  fall  without  the  other." 

"So  you  think,"  rejoined  Mrs.  Bezel  coolly;  "but 
I  know  how  to  protect  myself.  And  of  one  thing  you 
may  be  assured,  I  will  say  nothing  against  you.  All 
I  intend  to  do  is  to  tell  him  of  his  father's  death." 

"He  knows  it  already." 

"What?" 

"Yes !  Did  you  think  I  was  not  going  to  be  before- 
hand with  you,"  sneered  Hilliston  triumphantly.  "I 
guessed  your  intention  when  you  wrote  me  that  letter, 
and  when  Claude  arrived  in  town  I  saw  him  before  he 
could  call  here.  I  did  not  intend  to  tell  him  of  the 
matter  till  your  action  forced  me  to  do  so.  He  has 
read  all  the  papers  in  connection  with  his  father's 
death,  and  intends  to  hunt  down  the  murderer.  Now, 
do  you  see  what  you  have  done  ?  " 

Apparently  the  brutal  plainness  of  this  speech 
strongly  affected  Mrs.  Bezel.  It  seemed  as  though  she 
had  not  comprehended  till  that  moment  what  might  be 


MRS.    BEZEL.  75 

the  result  of  her  actions.     Now  an  abyss  opened  at  her 
feet,  and  she  felt  a  qualm  of  fear. 

"Nevertheless,  I  intend  to  go  on  now  that  I  have 
begun,"  she  said  gloomily.  "I  will  answer  any  ques- 
tions Claude  may  ask  me." 

"  You  will  put  him  in  possession  of  a  clew." 

"It  is  not  improbable;  but,  as  I  said,  life  has  no 
charms  for  me." 

"You  don't  think  of  my  sufferings,"  said  Hilliston 
bitterly,  rising  to  his  feet. 

"  Did  you  think  of  mine  during  all  these  lonely 
years?"  she  retorted,  with  a  sneer.  "I  shall  punish 
you,  as  you  punished  me.  There  is  such  a  thing  as 
justice  in  this  world." 

"Well,  I  warn  you  that  I  shall  protect  myself." 

"  That  is  your  lookout.  But  I  will  show  you  this 
mercy,  as  I  said  before.  That  nothing  will  be  told  by 
me  of  your  connection  with  this  affair.  As  to  myself, 
I  will  act  as  I  think  best." 

"  You  will  tell  him  who  you  are  ?  " 

"Yes;  I  will  tell  him  my  real  name." 

"Then  I  am  lost!" 

"Surely  not,"  she  rejoined  scornfully.  "Francis 
Hilliston  is  old  enough  in  villainy  and  experience  to 
protect  himself  against  a  mere  boy." 

"It  is  not  Claude  I  fear,  but  his  friend,  Spenser 
Tait.  He  is  the  dangerous  person.  But  enough  of 
this,"  added  Hilliston,  striking  the  table  imperiously. 
"I  forbid  you  to  indulge  in  these  follies.  You  know  I 
have  a  means  whereby  to  compel  your  obedience." 

"  It  is  your  possession  of  that  means  that  has  turned 
me  against  you,"  she  retorted  dauntlessly.  "  If  you 
give  me  back  my " 


76  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

"  Margaret!  Not  a  word  more!  Let  things  remain 
as  they  are." 

"  I  have  said  what  I  intend  to  do." 

Hilliston  ground  his  teeth.  He  knew  that  nothing 
he  could  say  or  do  would  shake  the  determination  of 
this  woman.  He  had  already  experienced  her  resolute 
will,  and  not  even  the  means  of  which  he  spoke  would 
shake  her  immovability.  There  was  nothing  more  but 
to  retire  and  protect  himself  as  best  he  could.  At 
all  events,  she  promised  to  remain  neutral  so  far  as  he 
was  concerned.  That  was  something  gained.  Before 
leaving  the  house,  however,  he  made  one  final  effort  to 
force  her  to  his  will. 

"  I  will  not  give  you  any  more  money." 

"  I  don't  care,  Francis.  This  cottage  and  its  con- 
tents are  settled  on  me.  A  sale  of  this  furniture  will 
produce  sufficient  money  to  last  my  life.  I  can't  live 
long  now." 

*'I  will  deny  all  your  statements." 

''Do  so!" 

"  I  will  have  you  declared  insane  and  shut  up  in  an 
asylum." 

Mrs.  Bezel  laughed  scornfully,  and  pointed  toward 
the  door. 

"  If  that  is  all  you  have  to  say  you  had  better  go," 
she  said  jeeringly.  '*  You  know  well  enough  that 
you  cannot  harm  me  without  jeopardizing  your  own 
position." 

They  looked  at  one  another  fiercely,  each  trying  to 
outstare  the  other.  Hilliston's  eyes  were  the  first  to 
fall,  and  he  hastily  turned  toward  the  door, 

"So  be  it,"   he   said,  with  his  hand   on   the  knob; 


MRS.    BEZEL.  7^ 

"you  want  war.  You  shall  have  it.  See  Claude,  tell 
him  all.     I  can  defend  myself." 

On  leaving  the  house  a  few  minutes  later,  he  paused 
irresolutely  by  the  gate  and  looked  back. 

"If  I  could  only  find  the  paper,"  he  muttered,  "she 
could  do  nothing.     As  it  is " 

He  made  a  gesture  of  despair  and  plunged  into  the 
darkness. 


CHAPTER  X. 

A  FEW  FACTS  CONNECTED  WITH  THE  CASE. 

When  the  two  young  men  left  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields 
after  the  momentous  interview  with  Hilliston,  they 
walked  on  in  silence  for  some  distance,  each  busied 
with  his  own  thoughts.  Like  most  solitaries,  Tait  had 
a  habit  of  speaking  aloud,  and,  unmindful  of  the  pres- 
ence of  Claude,  he  stopped  short  at  the  gate  of  the 
New  Law  Courts  to  give  vent  to  his  feelings. 

"  It  is  decidedly  suspicious,"  he  said  in  a  low  tone, 
"and  quite  inexplicable." 

"What  are  you  talking  about?"  asked  Claude 
irritably,  whereupon  Tait  became  aware  that  he  was 
not  alone,  but  nevertheless  showed  no  disposition  to 
balk  the  question. 

"I  was  thinking  of  Mr.  Hilliston,"  he  returned 
quietly.  "  I  am  not  at  all  satisfied  with  his  conduct. 
He  is  hostile  to  us,  Claude." 

"Hostile?  Impossible!  He  is  doing  all  in  his 
power  to  help  us." 

"So  it  appears,"  answered  Tait  dryly.  "  Neverthe- 
less I  think  that  he  intends  to  thwart  us  in  our  plans 
— if  he  can." 

"Now  you  are  talking  nonsense,"  said  Claude,  as 
they  resumed  their  walk.  "Why,  he  first  brought  the 
case  under  my  notice." 

"And  why?     Because  he  wanted  to  be  beforehand 

78 


A  FE IV FACTS  CONNECTED  WITH  THE  CASE.       79 

with  Mrs.  Bezel.  If  he  had  not  told  she  would  have 
done  so,  and  naturally  enough  he  wished  to  be  first  in 
the  field." 

"But  I  can't  think  ill  of  him,"  protested  Larcher. 
"  He  has  been  a  second  father  to  me." 

"  No  doubt !     There  is  such  a  thing  as  remorse." 

"  Remorse  ?     You  are  mad  !  " 

"Not  at  all.  I  am  suspicious.  We  will  discuss 
Mr.  Hilliston  later  on,  when  I  will  give  you  my  reasons 
for  speaking  thus.  Meanwhile  he  has  decided  to  play 
a  game  against  us !  " 

"Nonsense!     He  has  no  motive." 

"Pardon  me.  I  think  he  has,  but  what  it  is  I  am 
unable  to  say — as  yet.  However,  he  will  make  two 
moves  in  the  game  within  the  next  twenty-four 
hours." 

"Indeed,"  said  Claude  ironically,  "perhaps  you 
can  tell  me  what  those  two  moves  will  be." 

"Certainly,"  answered  Tait  serenely.  "As  to  the 
first,  he  will  call  at  my  rooms  to  find  out  if  we  have 
gone  to  see  Mrs.  Bezel  to-night,  and " 

"  Why  at  your  rooms  ?  " 

"  Because  he  thinks  you  are  staying  with  me.  And, 
moreover,  knowing  that  we  are  acting  together,  he 
knows  your  movements  will  coincide  with  mine." 

"Ah!     And  the  second  move  ?" 

"  He  will  write  you  a  letter  asking  you  to  stay  with 
him  at  Kensington  Gore." 

"I  don't  see  what  there  is  suspicious  about  that," 
said  Claude  petulantly. 

"I  know  you  don't.  But  it  is  my  belief  that  he  is 
afraid  of  your  investigations  in  this  case,  and  wishes  to 
keep  you  under  his  eye." 


8o  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

"But  good  Heavens,  man!  he  advised  me  to  pur- 
sue the  matter." 

'*  On  the  contrary,  he  advised  you  to  let  sleeping 
dogs  lie." 

"So  he  did,"  cried  Claude,  with  a  sudden  recollec- 
tion of  the  interview.  "  But  why  ?  What  harm  can 
my  investigations  do  to  him  ?  " 

"Ah!  That  is  a  diiificult  question  to  answer,"  said 
Tait  reflectingly.  "To  my  mind  they  will  show  that 
Hilliston  was  not  the  friend  of  your  father  he  pre- 
tended to  be." 

"But  according  to  those  papers  he  acted  like  a 
friend  throughout." 

"Yes,  according  to  those  papers." 

Larcher  faced  round  suddenly,  struck  by  the  signifi- 
cance of  the  remark.  He  was  a  clever  young  man,  but 
could  not  see  clearly  before  him,  and  honest  himself, 
was  far  from  suspecting  dishonesty  in  others.  Instead 
of  agreeing  with  Tait  in  his  estimate  of  Hilliston,  he 
vehemently  defended  the  lawyer. 

"You  must  not  speak  like  that,  Tait,"  he  said 
angrily.  "  Mr.  Hilliston  is  an  honest  man,  and  has 
been  like  a  father  to  me.     I  owe  all  to  him." 

"Perhaps  you  do,"  retorted  Tait  significantly. 
"  However,  we  need  not  quarrel  over  the  matter.  I 
am  content  to  wait,  and  will  bet  you  five  pounds  that 
the  inquiry  is  made  to-night,  and  the  letter  is  sent 
to-morrow." 

Larcher  did  not  accept  the  bet  thus  confidently 
offered,  but  walked  on  stiffly  with  his  head  in  the  air. 
He  was  seriously  annoyed  with  Tait  for  daring  to  cast 
an  imputation  on  the  character  of  a  man  to  whom  he 
owed  all.     Never  could  he  bring   himself  to  believe 


A  FEW  FA  CTS  CONNECTED  WITH  THE  CA  SE.       8 1 

that  Hilliston  intended  him  evil,  and  deemed  that  the 
lawyer,  despite  his  manifest  reluctance,  would  help 
him  by  all  the  means  in  his  power  to  discover  the 
assassin. 

Nevertheless,  Tait  proved  to  be  in  the  right.  As 
the  two  young  men  passed  down  the  stairs  on  their 
way  to  the  theater — whence  Tait  insisted  on  taking 
Claude  with  a  view  of  distracting  his  mind — they  were 
met  by  the  porter. 

"Beg  pardon,  sir,"  addressing  himself  to  Tait,  "  but 
a  gentleman  called  some  time  ago  and  asked  for  you 
and  Mr.  Larcher." 

**  Who  was  he  ?     Why  did  you  not  show  him  up  ? " 

**He  would  not  give  his  name,  sir,  and  did  not  wish 
to  come  up.  He  only  asked  if  you  had  a  box  for  the 
theater,  and  when  I  said  you  had  stalls,  drove  off." 

"Ah!     Can  you  describe  his  appearance?" 

"Not  very  tall,  sir.  Clean  shaven,  with  white  hair 
and  a  red  face.  Looked  like  a  country  gentleman, 
sir." 

"Thank  you!  that  will  do,"  replied  Tait  quietly, 
and  left  the  house  with  Claude. 

For  a  few  minutes  he  enjoyed  his  companion's 
astonishment  at  this  proof  of  Hilliston's  double-dealing, 
and  it  was  not  till  they  were  in  the  cab  that  he  spoke. 

"Well,"  he  said,  smiling,  "was  I  not  right  when 
I  said  that  he  would  make  the  first  move  ? " 

"  You  are  right  so  far,"  muttered  Claude,  who 
looked  ill  at  ease,  "  but  I  cannot  bring  myself  to  sus- 
pect my  guardian." 

"You  want  another  proof,  perhaps.  Well,  we  will 
wait  for  your  invitation  to  Kensington  Gore." 

Claude  shook  his  head,  and  seemed  so  indisposed  to 


82  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

talk  that  Tait  judged  it  wise  to  humor  his  silence. 
The  young  man's  thoughts  were  anything  but  pleasant. 
He  had  been  accustomed  to  look  up  to  Hilliston  as  the 
model  of  an  English  gentleman,  honest,  honorable, 
upright,  and  noble.  If,  then,  this  suspicion  of  Tait's 
should  prove  correct, — and  the  last  act  of  Hilliston 
certainly  gave  color  to  it, — where  was  he  to  find  honest 
and  honorable  men  ?  If  Hilliston  proved  false,  then 
Claude  felt  he  could  no  longer  trust  the  human  race. 
Still  he  fought  against  the  supposition,  and  secretly 
hoped  that  the  second  prophecy  of  his  friend  would 
not  be  fufilled. 

Alas,  for  his  hopes!  At  eleven  the  next  morning, 
while  they  were  discussing  the  situation,  a  letter  was 
delivered  to  Claude  by  special  messenger.  It  proved 
to  be  from  Hilliston,  and  contained  a  warm  invitation 
for  Larcher  to  take  up  his  abode  at  the  Kensington 
Gore  house.  "  As  you  may  only  be  in  London  for  a 
short  period,  my  dear  Claude,"  wrote  his  guardian, 
"my  wife  and  I  must  see  as  much  of  you  as  possi- 
ble." With  a  bitter  smile  Claude  tossed  the  letter 
across  to  Tait. 

"You  see  I  was  right,"  said  the  latter,  for  the  second 
time,  after  skimming  the  note.  "  Mr.  Hilliston  is 
playing  a  double  game.  He  wishes  to  keep  you  under 
his  eye,  thinking  that,  as  you  trust  him,  you  will  keep 
him  informed  as  to  your  doings,  so  that  being  fore- 
warned he  may  be  forearmed." 

"  Do  you  really  think  he  is  my  enemy,  Tait  ?  " 

"  I  am  really  not  prepared  to  say,"  replied  the  little 
man,  with  some  hesitation.  "  His  behavior  of  yester- 
day struck  me  as  suspicious.  He  seemed  unnecessarily 
agitated,    and   moreover  urged  you    not   to  see  Mrs. 


A  FEW  FA  CTS  CONNECTED  WITH  THE  CA  SE.      ^^ 

Bezel.  Perhaps  he  thinks  she  will  tell  you  too  much. 
Taking  all  these  facts  into  consideration  I  cannot  help 
thinking  that  Hilliston  is  asking  you  to  his  house  for 
some  motive  in  connection  with  our  search." 

"But  he  showed  me  the  papers." 

"I  know  that,  but  as  I  told  you  yesterday  it  was 
Hobson's  choice  with  him.  If  he  hadn't  imparted  the 
information,  Mrs.  Bezel  would  have  done  so.  Of  two 
evils  he  chose  the  least,  and  by  showing  you  the  papers 
proved  to  all  outward  appearance  that  he  was  your  firm 
friend.  Should  you  bring  any  charge  against  him,  he 
will  meet  it  by  the  very  argument  you  have  just  made 
use  of." 

**Good  Heavens  !"  groaned  Claude,  in  despair,  "is 
everybody  as  treacherous  as  you  think  him  to  be." 

"A  good  number  of  people  are,"  replied  Tait 
suavely.  "A  long  residence  in  London  does  not 
strengthen  one's  belief  in  human  nature.  It  is  a  city 
of  wild  beasts, — of  wolves  and  foxes, — who  rend  and 
betray  for  the  gaining  of  their  own  ends.  If  Hilliston 
is  what  I  believe  him  to  be,  we  must  do  our  best  to 
baffle  him;  and  so  you  must  continue  to  be  his  friend." 

"  How  can  I,  if  he  wishes  to  betray  me  ? " 

"Ah,  you  are  so  unsophisticated,  Claude,"  said  the 
hardened  man  of  the  world ;  "  you  betray  your  feelings 
too  plainly.  In  this  city  it  is  worse  than  madness  to 
wear  your  heart  on  your  sleeve.  If  you  are  convinced 
that  Hilliston  bears  you  ill " 

"I  am  not  convinced.  I  can't  believe  any  man 
would  be  so  base." 

"Ah,  bah,  that  is  a  want  of  experience,"  retorted 
Tait,  raising  his  eyebrows;  "  I'll  pick  you  out  a  dozen 
of  my  decent  friends  who  are  as  base  or  baser  than  I 


84  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

believe  them  to  be.  Respectability  is  all  a  question  of 
concealment  nowadays,  and  it  must  be  confessed  that 
your  guardian  wears  his  mask  very  prettily." 

"  But  do  you  think  he  is " 

"Never  mind  what  I  think,"  interrupted  Tait 
impatiently.  "  Hilliston  may  turn  out  to  be  an  angel, 
after  all.  But  his  conduct  of  yesterday  and  this  morn- 
ing appears  to  be  suspicious,  and  in  dealing  with  the 
matters  we  have  in  hand  it  is  as  well  to  be  careful. 
Keep  your  faith  in  Hilliston  if  it  assists  you  to  con- 
tinue the  friendship.     He  must  suspect  nothing." 

"Do  you  then  wish  me  to  accept  this  invitation  ?" 

"No.  Why  go  into  the  lion's  den?  Write  and 
thank  him  and — decline." 

"  I  have  no  excuse." 

"Indeed!  Then  I  will  provide  you  with  one.  You 
are  engaged  to  stay  with  me  at  Thorston  for  a  month. 
By  the  end  of  that  time  you  will  know  sufficient  of 
Hilliston  to  decide  for  yourself  as  to  the  wisdom  of 
accepting  or  declining  his  invitation." 

"But  if  we  go  to  Thorston  we  cannot  prosecute  our 
inquiries." 

"Yes,  we  can.  I  tell  you  that  book,  which  contains 
the  story  of  your  father's  murder,  also  contains  a 
description  of  Thorston.      I  recognize  every  scene." 

"Well  ?" 

"Well,"  repeated  Tait  sharply,  "can't  you  see? 
The  author  of  that  book  must  either  live  at  Thorston 
or  have  stayed  a  few  months  there.  Else  he  could  not 
have  described  the  village  so  accurately.  We  must 
make  inquiries  about  him  there,  and  should  we  be 
fortunate  enough  to  discover  him,  we  must  extract  his 
secret." 


A  FEW  FA  CTS  CONNECTED  WITH  THE  CA  SE.       85 

"What  secret?" 

"Upon  my  word,  Claude,  you  are  either  stupid  or 
cunning.  Why,  find  out  where  he  got  his  material 
from.  That  may  put  us  on  the  right  track.  Now, 
write  to  Hilliston,  and  then  go  up  to  Hampstead  and 
find  out  what  Mrs.  Bezel  has  to  say." 

"Won't  you  come,  too?"  said  Claude,  going  to  the 
writing  desk. 

"No.  I  have  my  own  business  to  attend  to." 
"Is  it  connected  with  our  enterprise  ?  " 
"  I  should  think  so.  It  is  my  intention  to  call  on 
the  firm  who  published  'A  Whim  of  Fate,' and  find 
out  all  I  can  concerning  the  author.  When  you  return 
from  Mrs.  Bezel  we  will  compare  notes,  and  on  what 
information  we  obtain  will  depend  our  future  move- 
ments." 


CHAPTER  XL 

A    STARTLING    DISCOVERY. 

In  one  of  his  novels  Balzac  makes  the  pertinent 
remark  that  "  It  is  impossible  for  man  to  understand 
the  heart  of  woman,  seeing  that  her  Creator  himself 
does  not  understand  it."  These  are  not  the  precise 
words,  but  the  sentiment  is  the  same.  And  who, 
indeed,  can  understand  a  woman's  heart;  who  can 
aver  that  he  has  a  complete  comprehension  of  her 
character  ?  Very  young  men  lay  claim  to  such  knowl- 
edge, but  as  they  grow  older,  and  the  vanity  of 
youth  gives  way  to  the  modesty  begotten  by  experi- 
ence, they  no  longer  pretend  to  such  omniscience,  and 
humbly  admit  their  inability  to  solve  the  riddle  of 
femininity.  Had  the  Sphinx  proposed  such  an  enigma 
to  CEdipus  he  would  not  have  been  able  to  guess  it, 
and  so,  meeting  the  fate  of  other  victims,  would  have 
deprived  Thebes  of  a  king  and  Sophicles  of  a  tragedy. 

Yet,  if  we  bear  in  mind  that  women  work  rather 
from  impulse  than  from  motive,  we  may  arrive  at  some 
knowledge  of  the  organ  in  question.  If  a  woman  is 
impulsive,  and  most  women  are,  she  acts  directly  on 
those  impulses;  and  so  startles  men  by  paradoxical 
actions.  As  a  rule,  the  male  intellect  has  logical 
reasons  wherefrom  it  deduces  motives  upon  which  to 
act.  Not  so  with  women.  They  obey  the  impulse  of 
the  moment,  reckless  of  the  consequence  to  themselves 

86 


A    STARTLING  DISCOVERY.  87 

or  to  anyone  else.  Consequently,  it  is  impossible  to 
foretell  how  a  woman  will  act  in  a  given  circumstance, 
but  it  may  be  asserted  that  she  will  obey  the  latest 
thought  in  her  mind.  Even  from  this  point  of  view, 
the  feminine  mind  is  still  a  riddle;  but  one  which  is 
more  capable  of  explanation. 

For  example,  Mrs.  Bezel  read  ''A  Whim  of  Fate," 
and  thus,  after  five-and-twenty  years,  the  Horris- 
ton  tragedy  was  freshly  impressed  on  her  brain. 
Seized  with  remorse,  terrified  by  the  memory  of  the 
crime,  she,  acting  on  the  impulse,  wrote  to  Hilliston 
stating  that  she  intended  to  see  Claude  Larcher  and 
reveal  all.  The  dismay  of  the  lawyer  at  this  mad  pro- 
posal, and  his  steady  opposition  thereto,  turned  what 
was  originally  a  mere  whim  into  a  fixed  idea.  She  saw 
a  way  of  punishing  the  man  for  the  withdrawal  of  his 
love  ten  years  before,  when  she  lost  her  beauty  and 
became  paralyzed.  Delighted  at  learning  that  she  had 
still  some  power  to  wound  him,  she  persisted  in  her 
project,  and  so  wrote  the  letter  to  Larcher,  which  he 
received  the  day  after  his  arrival  in  London. 

To  baffle  Hilliston,  and  prevent  him  from  intercept- 
ing the  letter,  she  was  obliged  to  use  all  her  wits,  and 
so  hit  on  the  idea  of  learning  the  name  of  the  young 
man's  club.  How  she  managed  to  obtain  it  is  best 
known  to  herself;  but  Hilliston,  never  dreaming  of 
this  pertinacity,  was  unable  to  thwart  her  schemes, 
and,  beyond  writing  to  Claude,  telling  him  to  call, 
could  do  nothing.  Had  he  guessed  that  she  would 
address  her  invitation  to  the  club,  he  might  have  called 
and  obtained  it  in  the  character  of  Larcher's  guardian; 
but,  knowing  her  helpless  condition,  the  thought  that  it 
might  be  there  never  entered  his  mind.     So  the  letter 


88  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

arrived,  was  duly  answered,  and  Claude  was  coming 
to-day  at  three  o'clock  to  hear  what  Mrs.  Bezel  had  to 
say. 

The  visit,  though  due  to  her  own  action,  was  a  source 
of  considerable  anxiety;  for  she  was  not  at  all  certain 
of  what  she  would  say.  It  was  impossible  to  tell  all 
without  inculpating  Hilliston,  and  this,  for  reasons  of 
her  own,  Mrs.  Bezel  was  unwilling  to  do.  All  her  talk 
of  the  previous  night  had  been  so  much  rodomontade 
to  frighten  the  man  she  hated,  but  she  was  too  well 
aware  of  her  dependent  position  to  think  of  doing  him 
an  injury.  Her  impulse  had  led  her  into  deep  water, 
as  she  knew  instinctively. 

She  was  a  woman  who  had  lived  every  moment  of 
her  life,  but  now,  stretched  on  a  bed  of  sickness,  she 
missed  her  former  triumphs  and  excitements.  This 
visit  promised  a  great  deal  of  amusement,  and  the  use 
of  much  diplomacy,  therefore  she  was  unwilling  to 
abandon  her  plans.  At  the  same  time  she  determined 
to  give  the  young  man  as  little  information  as  she 
possibly  could.  It  would  not  be  through  her  agency 
that  the  mask  would  be  torn  from  Hilliston's  face. 
She  was  resolved  on  that  point. 

Yet  the  matter,  starting  originally  from  an  impulse, 
had  now  gone  too  far  for  her  to  draw  back.  Claude 
had  seen  the  papers,  and  therefrom  must  have  guessed 
that  she  desired  to  impart  certain  information  with 
regard  to  the  crime  which  had  cost  him  a  father.  Mrs. 
Bezel  therefore  compromised  the  matter,  and  settled 
in  her  own  mind  to  tell  him  half  the  truth,  or,  at  all 
events,  only  sufficient  to  interest  him  without  aiding 
him.  Had  she  been  a  man,  and  had  taken  this  de- 
cision, all  would  have  gone  well,  but  being  a  woman 


A    STARTLING  DISCOVERY.  89 

she  reckoned  without  her  impulse,  and  it  betrayed 
her. 

Moreover,  she  had  a  revelation  to  make  which 
would  effectively  tie  Larcher's  hands  should  he  learn 
too  much;  but  this  she  did  not  intend  to  make  unless 
driven  into  a  corner.  She  was  in  that  corner  before 
the  interview  was  finished,  though  she  little  expected 
to  get  there.  Hilliston,  clever  as  he  was,  could  not 
understand  her  present  actions;  she  did  not  under- 
stand them  herself,  else  she  would  not  have  ventured 
to  receive  Claude  Larcher. 

He  duly  arrived  at  three  o'clock,  and  Mrs.  Bezel 
glanced  approvingly  at  his  stalwart  figure  and  hand- 
some face.  Claude  had  one  of  those  sympathetic,  yet 
manly,  natures,  to  which  women  are  instinctively  drawn 
by  the  law  of  sex,  and  Mrs.  Bezel  proved  no  exception 
to  this  rule.  She  was  too  thoroughly  a  woman  not  to 
relish  masculine  society,  and,  despite  her  perplexity, 
was  glad  she  had  sent  the  invitation,  if  only  for  the  sake 
of  talking  to  this  splendid  looking  young  man.  There 
was  another  reason,  which  she  revealed  in  a  moment 
of  impulse.     But  that  was  later  on. 

Meanwhile  Claude,  seated  by  her  couch  in  the  win- 
dow, was  wondering  who  she  was,  and  why  she  had 
sought  this  interview.  He  was  certainly  aware  that 
she  had  some  information  to  impart  concerning  the 
fate  of  his  parents,  but  as  he  had  not  seen  her  name  in 
the  papers  containing  the  account  of  the  case,  he  was 
at  a  loss  to  fix  her  identity.  His  doubts  were  soon  set 
at  rest.  Mrs.  Bezel  was  a  more  prominent  actor  in 
the  Horriston  tragedy  than  he  had  any  idea  of. 

"You  were  doubtless  astonished  to  get  my  letter," 
said   Mrs.  Bezel,  when   the  first    greetings  were  over. 


9°  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

"  especially  as  you  do  not  remember  your  parents,  and 
my  name  is  also  unknown  to  you." 

"Were  you  a  friend  of  my  parents,  madam  ?  "  asked 
Claude,  too  anxious  for  information  to  reply  directly 
to  her  remark. 

*'Yes.  I — I  knew  them.  That  is,  I  lived  atHorris- 
ton,"  stammered  Mrs.  Bezel,  passing  a  handkerchief 
across  her  dry  lips. 

"You  lived  at  Horriston  ?  At  the  time  of  the 
murder  ?  " 

Mrs.  Bezel  nodded;  she  was  not  yet  sufficiently  self- 
controlled  for  speech. 

"In  that  case,"  continued  Claude  eagerly,  "you 
must  know  all  the  details  of  the  crime." 

"  Only  those  that  were  reported  in  the  papers." 

"  Still  you  must  be  acquainted  with  those  concerned 
in  the  tragedy.  With  my  father,  with  Jeringham,  Denis 
Bantry,  with  Mona,  his  sister." 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Bezel  calmly;  "I  knew  them 
all." 

"Have  you  any  idea  who  committed  the  crime  ?" 

"Not  the  slightest." 

"  But  you  must  have  some  suspicions  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes!  But  they  may  be  wrong.  I  believe  that 
Mr.  Jeringham  had  something  to  do  with  it." 

"Oh!  "  said  Claude,  remembering  Hilliston's opinion, 
"some  believe  him  to  be  guilty." 

"I  cannot  say  for  certain,"  replied  Mrs.  Bezel,  shak- 
ing her  head.  "  The  flight  of  Mr.  Jeringham  certainly 
showed  that  he  had  something  to  conceal." 

"  What  kind  of  a  man  was  Mr.  Jeringham  ?  " 

"Tall  and  fair.  Amiable  as  a  rule,  but  liable  to 
violent  passions." 


A    STARTLING  DISCOVERY.  91 

"  Was  he  not  in  love  with  my  mother  before  she 
married  my  father  ?  " 

Mrs.  Bezel  turned  away  her  head,  and  the  color  rose 
to  her  face.  The  nervous  movement  of  her  hands 
plucking  at  her  dress  showed  how  profoundly  she  was 
moved  by  this  question. 

"  I  believe  so.  But  she — Mrs.  Larcher  loved  her 
husband." 

"  Then  why  was  my  father  jealous  of  Jeringham  ?  " 
said  Claude,  who  could  not  reconcile  this  statement 
with  the  evidence  given  at  the  trial. 

"How  should  I  know?"  cried  Mrs.  Bezel,  turning 
on  him  with  sudden  passion.  "If  George  Larcher 
had  not  been  so  blinded  by  jealousy  he  would  have 
seen  that  there  was  nothing  between  them.  Your 
mother  knew  Jeringham  all  his  life;  they  were  like 
brother  and  sister.  It  is  true  he  wished  to  marry  her, 
but  when  he  saw  that  her  heart  was  given  to  your 
father,  he  bowed  to  her  decision.  He  came  to  Horris- 
ton  as  her  friend,  not  as  her  lover." 

"But  he  was  constantly  with  her." 

"Do  you  dare  to  speak  thus  of  your  mother,  sir?" 

"I — I  cannot  help  doing  so,"  stammered  Claude, 
startled  by  the  anger  in  her  voice.  "God  knows  I 
wish  to  revere  the  memory  of  my  mother,  but  I  cannot 
help  seeing  that  she  was  morally  responsible  for  the 
tragedy." 

"She  was  not!  She  was  not!"  said  Mrs.  Bezel 
vehemently.  "How  dare  you  speak  thus?  Your 
father  neglected  her.  He  left  her  to  the  companion- 
ship of  Mark  Jeringham,  while  he  indulged  in  his 
predilection  for  literary  work.  All  day  long  he  shut 
himself  up  in  his  study,  and  let  his  wif.e  sit  alone,  and 


92  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

miserable.  Was  it  any  wonder,  then,  that  she  should 
turn  to  her  old  friend  for  consolation  ?  There  was 
nothing  between  them — nothing  to  which  any  Pharisee 
could  have  taken  exception." 

"But  surely  my  father  was  sufficiently  sensible  to 
see  all  this  ?  " 

"He  saw  nothing,  or  what  he  did  see  was  distorted 
by  his  jealousy.  The  police,  in  their  endeavors  to  fix 
the  crime  on  your  mother,  took  the  same  view  of  the 
relations  between  her  and  Jeringham.  Oh,  I  know 
what  you  read  in  those  papers  shown  to  you  by  Mr. 
Hilliston  ! " 

So  surprised  was  Claude  by  this  unexpected  intro- 
duction of  his  guardian's  name  that  he  could  not  sup- 
press a  start. 

"How  do  you  know  that  Mr.  Hilliston  showed  me 
the  papers  ?" 

Mrs.  Bezel  saw  that  she  had  said  too  much,  but, 
unable  to  go  back  on  her  words,  rapidly  resolved  to 
make  that  revelation  which  she  had  hitherto  intended 
to  keep  as  a  last  resource. 

"Mr.  Hilliston  told  me  that  he  had  done  so." 

"  Do  you  know  him  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Bezel,  seizing  her  opportunity  to 
lead  up  to  the  revelation.  "I  know  him  as  the  best 
and  kindest  of  men.  I  know  him  as  one  who  has 
been  a  good  friend  to  you — orphan  as  you  thought 
yourself." 

"  Orphan  as  I  thought  myself,"  muttered  Claude, 
turning  pale.      "Is  it  not  true — am  I  not  an  orphan  ?" 

"No!" 

"  Great  Heavens!  What  is  this  you  tell  me?  My 
father " 


A    STARTLING  DISCOVERY.  93 

"Your  father  is  dead.  He  was  murdered,  as  you 
know." 

"  Then  my  mother  ? " 

Mrs.  Bezel  looked  at  the  agonized  face  of  the  young 
man,  and  covered  her  own,  with  a  quick  indrawn 
breath. 

"She  lives!" 

"My  mother!  She  lives!  Are  you  mad  ?  She  died 
in  London  shortly  after  her  acquittal." 

"  So  it  was  supposed,  but  it  was  not  true.  Could 
you  expect  that  unhappy  woman  to  face  the  scorn  and 
contempt  of  the  world  after  having  been  accused  of 
her  husband's  murder?  She  did  not  die,  save  to  the 
world.  She  fled  from  society  and  sought  refuge  here — 
here  where  she  lies  a  helpless  invalid." 

"Mrs.  Bezell  " 

"I  am  not  Mrs.  Bezel.     I  am  your  mother." 

"God!     My  mother!" 


CHAPTER   XII. 

REVELATIONS. 

It  was  only  natural  that  a  silence  should  ensue 
between  these  two  so  strangely  brought  together. 
Claude,  seated  pale  and  anguished  in  his  chair,  tried  to 
collect  his  thoughts,  and  stared  wildly  at  his  mother. 
She,  with  her  face  buried  in  the  cushions,  sobbed 
bitterly.  After  the  way  in  which  her  son  had  spoken, 
it  was  cruel  that  she  should  have  been  forced  to  make 
such  a  revelation  at  such  a  moment.  He  condemned, 
he  reproached,  her  conduct  in  the  past,  and  she  again 
tasted  the  full  bitterness  of  the  cup  which  had  been 
held  to  her  lips  twenty-five  years  before. 

On  his  part  Claude  did  not  know  what  to  say;  he 
hardly  knew  what  to  think.  Convinced  by  a  perusal 
of  the  papers  that  his  mother  was  morally  guilty  of  his 
father's  death,  he  was  overwhelmed  to  find  that  she 
was  still  alive,  and  capable,  for  all  he  knew,  of  offer- 
ing a  defense  for  her  share  in  the  tragedy.  After  all, 
he  had  no  right  to  judge  her  until  he  heard  what  she 
had  to  say.  Blood  is  thicker  than  water,  and  she  was 
his  mother. 

Now  he  saw  the  reason  why  Hilliston  objected  to  his 
calling  at  Hampstead;  why  he  advised  him  to  let 
sleeping  dogs  lie.  After  so  long  a  period  it  was 
worse  than  useless  to  bring  mother  and  son  together. 
Their  thoughts,  their  aims,  their  lives,  were  entirely 

94 


RE  VELA  TIONS.  95 

diverse,  and  only  pain  could  be  caused  by  such  a  meet- 
ing. Claude  silently  acknowledged  the  wisdom  of 
Hilliston's  judgment,  but  at  the  same  time  could 
hardly  refrain  from  condemning  him  for  having  kept 
him  so  long  in  ignorance  of  the  truth. 

Mrs.  Bezel — as  we  must  still  continue  to  call  her — 
was  astonished  at  this  long  silence,  but  raised  her  head 
to  cast  a  timid  glance  at  Claude.  His  brow  was 
gloomy,  his  lips  were  firmly  set,  and  he  looked  any- 
thing but  overjoyed  at  the  revelation  which  she  had 
made.  Guessing  his  thoughts,  the  unhappy  woman 
made  a  gesture  of  despair,  and  spoke  in  a  low  voice, 
broken  by  sobs. 

"  You,  too,  condemn  me  ?  " 

<'  No,  mother,"  he  replied,  and  Mrs.  Bezel  winced  as 
she  heard  him  acknowledge  the  relationship;  "I  do 
not  condemn  you.  I  have  heard  one  side  of  the  ques- 
tion.    I  must  now  hear  the  other — from  you." 

"What  more  can  I  tell  you  than  what  you  already 
know,"  she  said,  drying  her  eyes. 

"  I  must  know  the  reason  why  you  let  me  think  you 
dead  all  these  years." 

"  It  was  by  my  own  wish,  and  by  the  advice  of  Mr. 
Hilliston." 

Claude  bit  his  lip  at  the  mention  of  this  name,  and 
cast  a  hasty  glance  round  the  splendidly  furnished 
room.  A  frightful  suspicion  had  entered  his  mind  ; 
but  she  was  his  mother,  and  he  did  not  dare  to  give  it 
utterance.  His  mother  guessed  his  thoughts,  and 
spared  him  the  pain  of  speaking.  With  a  womanly  dis- 
regard for  the  truth  she  promptly  lied  concerning  the 
relationship  which  her  son  suspected  to  exist  between 
his  guardian  and  herself. 


96  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

"You  need  not  look  so  black,  Claude,  and  think  ill 
of  me.  I  am  unfortunate,  but  not  guilty.  All  that 
you  see  here  is  mine  ;  purchased  by  my  own  money." 

**  Your  own  money  ? "  replied  Claude,  heaving  a  sigh 
of  relief. 

"Yes!  Mr.  Hilliston,  who  has  been  a  good  friend 
to  me,  saved  sufficient  out  of  my  marriage  settlement 
to  enable  me  to  furnish  this  cottage,  and  live  comfor- 
tably. It  is  just  as  well, "  added  she  bitterly,  "  else  I 
might  have  died  on  the  streets." 

"But  why  did  you  let  Hilliston  bring  me  up  to  think 
I  was  an  orphan  ?  " 

"I  did  not  wish  to  shadow  your  life.  I  did  not  wish 
you  to  change  your  name.  I  had  to  change  mine, 
and  retire  from  the  world,  but  that  was  part  of  my 
punishment." 

''  Still  if " 

"It  was  impossible,  I  tell  you,  Claude, "  interrupted 
his  mother  impatiently.  "When  you  grew  up  you 
would  have  asked  questions,  and  then  I  would  have  been 
forced  to  tell  you  all." 

"  Yet,  in  spite  of  your  precautions,  I  do  know  all.  If 
you  took  all  this  trouble  to  hide  the  truth,  why  reveal 
it  to  me  now  ?  " 

Mrs.  Bezel  pointed  to  three  books  lying  on  an  adja- 
cent table.     Claude  quite  understood  what  she  meant. 

"I  see,"  he  remarked,  before  she  could  speak,  "you 
think  that  the  author  of  that  book  knows  about  my 
father's  murder." 

"  I  am  certain  he  does.  But  what  he  knows,  or  how 
he  knows,  I  cannot  say.  Still,  I  am  certain  of  one 
thing,  that  he  tells  the  story  from  hearsay." 

"What  makes  you  think  that  ?" 


REVELATIONS.  97 

**  It  would  take  too  long  to  tell  you  my  reasons.  It 
is  sufificient  to  state  that  the  fictitious  case  differs  from 
the  real  case  in  several  important  particulars.  For 
instance,"  she  added,  with  a  derisive  smile,  "the 
guilty  person  is  said  to  be  Michael  Dene,  and  he 
is " 

"Is  drawn  from  Mr.  Hilliston." 

"How  do  you  know  that?"  she  asked,  with  a 
startled  air. 

Claude  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "I  have  eyes  to 
read  and  brains  to  comprehend,"  he  said  quietly; 
"There  is  no  doubt  in  my  mind  that  the  lawyer  of  the 
fiction  is  meant  for  the  lawyer  of  real  life.  Otherwise, 
I  think  the  writer  drew  on  his  imagination.  It  was 
necessary  for  him  to  end  his  story  by  fixing  on  one  of 
the  characters  as  a  criminal;  and  owing  to  the  exigen- 
cies of  the  plot,  as  developed  by  himself,  he  chose 
Michael  Dene,  otherwise  Mr.  Hilliston,  as  the  mur- 
derer." 

"But  you  don't  think " 

"Oh,  no!  I  don't  think  Mr.  Hilliston  is  guilty.  I 
read  the  trial  very  carefully,  and  moreover  I  do  not 
see  what  motive  he  could  have  to  commit  the  crime." 

"The  motive  of  Michael  Dene  is  love  for  the  mur- 
dered man's  wife." 

"  In  other  words,  the  author  assumes  that  Hilliston 
loved  you,"  said  Claude  coolly;  "but  I  have  your 
assurance  that  such  is  not  the  case." 

"You  speak  to  me  like  that,"  cried  Mrs.  Bezel 
angrily;   " to  your  mother? " 

Larcher's  expression  did  not  change.  He  turned  a 
trifle  paler,  and  compressed  his  lips  firmly,  otherwise 
he  gave  no  outward  sign  of  his  emotion.      Knowing  so 


98  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

much  of  the  case  as  he  did,  he  could  not  look  on  this 
woman  in  the  light  of  a  mother;  she  had  indirectly 
contributed  to  his  father's  death;  she  had  deserted 
him  for  twenty-five  years;  and  now  that  she  claimed 
his  filial  reverence,  he  was  unwilling  to  yield  it  to  her. 
Perhaps  he  was  unjust  and  harsh  to  think  this,  but  the 
natural  tie  between  them  was  so  weakened  by  time 
and  ignorance  that  he  could  find  no  affection  in  his 
heart  to  bestow  on  her.  To  him  she  was  a  stranger — 
nothing  more. 

"Let  us  understand  each  other,"  he  said  coldly. 
"  That  you  are  my  mother  is  no  doubt  true,  but  I  ask 
you  if  you  have  performed  your  maternal  duties  ?  You 
obliterated  yourself  from  my  life;  you  left  me  to  be 
brought  up  by  strangers;  in  all  ways  you  only  consulted 
your  own  desires.  Can  you  then  expect  me  to  yield 
you  that  filial  obedience  which  every  mother  has  a 
right  to  expect  from  her  son  ?     If  you " 

"Enough,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  Bezel,  white  with  anger, 
"  say  no  more.  I  understand  you  only  too  well,  and 
now  regret  that  I  sought  this  interview,  which  has 
resulted  so  ill.  I  hoped  that  you  would  be  glad  to 
find  your  mother  still  alive;  that  you  would  cherish 
her  in  her  affliction.  I  see  I  was  wrong.  You  are  as 
cold  and  bitter  as  was  your  father." 

"  My  father?" 

"Yes.  Do  you  think  that  all  the  wrong  was  on  my 
side.  Had  I  nothing  to  forgive  him  ?  Ah!  I  see  by 
your  face  that  you  know  to  what  I  allude.  It  was 
your  father  and  my  husband  who  betrayed  me  for 
Mona  Bantry." 

"You  have  no  proof  of  that,"  said  Claude,  in  a  low 
voice. 


REVELATIONS.  99 

**  I  have  every  proof.  The  girl  told  me  with  her 
own  lips.  I  returned  from  that  ball  at  three  o'clock 
in  the  morning,  and  Mr.  Jeringham  left  me  at  the 
door.  I  entered  the  house  alone  and  proceeded  to 
my  sitting  room.  There  I  found  Mona  and  —  my 
husband." 

''Ah!     He  did  return  from  London  on  that  night  ?" 

"Yes.  He  returned,  thinking  I  was  out  of  the  way, 
in  order  to  see  his  mistress.  In  his  presence  she  con- 
fessed her  guilt.  I  looked  to  him  for  denial,  and  he 
hung  his  head.  Then  hardly  knowing  what  I  did, 
overcome  with  rage,  I  snatched  the  dagger  which  I 
wore  as  part  of  my  costume,  and " 

''And  killed  him,"  shrieked  Claude,  springing  to  his 
feet.     "  For  Heaven's  sake,  do  not  confess  this  to  me!" 

"Why  not?  I  did  no  wrong!  I  did  not  kill  him. 
I  fainted  before  I  could  cross  the  room  to  where  he 
stood.  When  I  recovered  I  was  alone.  My  husband 
and  Mona  Bantry  had  disappeared.  Then  I  retired  to 
bed  and  was  ill  for  days.     I  know  no  more  of  the  case." 

"Is  this  true  ?"  asked  Claude  anxiously. 

"Why  should  it  not  be  true  ?  Do  you  think  I  would 
invent  a  story  like  that  to  asperse  the  memory  of  your 
father?  Vilely  as  he  treated  me,  I  loved  him.  I  do 
not  know  who  killed  him.  The  dagger  I  wore  disap- 
peared with  him.  It  was  found  in  the  garden;  his 
body  in  the  river  four  miles  down.  But  I  declare  to 
you  solemnly  that  I  am  ignorant  of  whose  hand  struck 
the  blow.     It  might  have  been   Mona,  or  Jeringham, 


or 

» 


"Or  Hilliston  !" 

"You  are  wrong  there,"  replied  his  mother  coolly, 

or  else  your  judgment  has  been  perverted  by  that 


100  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

book.  Mr.  Hilliston  was  still  at  the  ball  when  the 
tragedy  occurred.  His  evidence  at  the  trial  proved 
that.  Don't  say  a  word  against  him.  He  has  been  a 
good  friend  to  you — and  to  me." 

"I  do  not  deny  that." 

"You  cannot!  When  I  was  arrested  and  tried  for 
a  crime  which  I  never  committed,  he  stood  by  me. 
When  I  left  the  court  alone  and  friendless,  he  stood 
by  me.  I  decided  to  feign  death  to  escape  the  obloquy 
which  attaches  to  every  suspected  criminal.  He  found 
me  this  refuge  and  installed  me  here  as  Mrs.  Bezel. 
He  took  charge  of  you  and  brought  you  up,  and 
looked  after  your  money  and  mine.  Don't  you  dare  to 
speak  against  him !  " 

Exhausted  by  the  fury  with  which  she  had  spoken, 
the  unfortunate  woman  leaned  back  in  her  chair. 
Claude,  already  regretting  his  harshness,  brought  a 
glass  of  water,  which  he  placed  to  her  lips.  After  a 
few  minutes  she  revived,  and  feebly  waved  him  away; 
but  he  was  not  to  be  so  easily  dismissed. 

"I  am  sorry  I  spoke  as  I  did,  mother,"  he  said 
tenderly,  arranging  her  pillows.  "Now  that  I  have 
heard  your  story,  I  see  that  you  have  suffered 
greatly.  It  is  not  my  right  to  reproach  you.  No 
doubt  you  acted  for  the  best;  therefore,  I  do  not  say 
a  word  against  you  or  Mr.  Hilliston,  but  ask  you  to 
forgive  me." 

The  tears  were  rolling  down  Mrs.  Bezel's  cheeks 
as  he  spoke  thus,  and  without  uttering  a  word,  she 
put  her  hand  in  his  in  token  of  forgiveness.  Claude 
pressed  his  lip  to  her  faded  cheek,  and  thus  reconciled 
— as  much  as  was  possible  under  the  circumstances — 
they  began  to  talk  of  the  case. 


RE  VELA  TIONS.  I  o  I 

"What  do  you  intend  to  do?"  asked  Mrs.  Bezel 
weakly. 

"  Find  out  who  killed  my  father." 

"It  is  impossible — after  five-and-twenty  years.  I 
have  told  you  all  I  know,  and  you  see  I  cannot  help 
you.     I  do  not  know  whom  to  suspect." 

"  You  surely  have  some  suspicion,  mother  ?  " 

"  No,  I  have  no  suspicions.  Whomsoever  killed 
your  father  took  the  dagger  out  of  my  sitting  room." 

"  Perhaps  Mona " 

"I  think  not.     She  had  no  reason  to  kill  him." 

"  He  had  wronged  her." 

"And  me!"  cried  Mrs.  Bezel  vehemently.  "Do 
not  talk  any  more  of  these  things,  Claude.  1  know 
nothing  more;  I  can  tell  you  nothing  more." 

"Then  I  must  try  and  find  John  Parver,  and  learn 
how  he  became  acquainted  with  the  story." 

"That  is  why  I  sent  for  you;  why  I  revealed  myself; 
why  I  told  you  all  I  have  suffered.  Find  John  Parver, 
and  tell  me  who  he  is,  what  he  is." 

This  Claude  promised  to  do,  and,  as  his  mother  was 
worn  out  by  the  long  conversation,  he  shortly  after- 
ward took  his  leave.  As  he  descended  Fitzjohn's 
Avenue  a  thought  flashed  into  his  mind  as  to  the 
identity  of  John  Parver. 

"I  wonder  if  John  Parver  is  Mark  Jeringham?" 
said  Claude. 

The  question  was  to  be  answered  on  that  very 
evening. 


CHAPER  XIII. 


ON    THE    TRACK. 


It  was  nearly  six  o'clock  when  Claude  returned  to 
Earls  Street,  and  Tait,  already  dressed  for  the  evening, 
was  waiting  his  arrival  with  considerable  impatience. 
His  usual  imperturbability  had  given  place  to  a  self- 
satisfied  air,  as  though  he  had  succeeded  in  accom- 
plishing a  difficult  undertaking.  He  uttered  a  joyful 
exclamation  when  he  saw  Claude  enter,  but  a  look 
of  apprehension  passed  over  his  face  when  he  noted 
the  altered  appearance  of  his  friend. 

"What  is  wrong?"  he  asked,  as  Claude  threw  him- 
self into  a  chair,  with  a  sigh  of  fatigue.  "  Do  you 
bring  bad  news  ?  My  dear  fellow,  you  are  completely 
worn  out.  Here,  Dormer,  a  glass  of  sherry  for  Mr. 
Larcher." 

The  servant,  who  was  putting  the  finishing  touches 
to  the  dinner-table,  speedily  obeyed  this  order,  and 
Tait  made  his  friend  drink  the  wine  without  delay. 
Then  he  proceeded  to  question  him  regarding  the 
reason  of  his  pallor,  but  with  his  usual  caution  first 
sent  Dormer  out  of  the  room.  Only  when  they  were 
alone  did  he  venture  to  speak  on  the  subject  about 
which  both  were  thinking. 

"Well!"  he  demanded  anxiously,    "you  saw    Mrs. 
Bezel?" 

"Yes;  I  was  with  her  for  two  hours." 


ON    THE    TRACK.  103 

"Ah!"  said  Tait,  with  great  satisfaction;  "she 
must  have  told  you  a  good  deal  in  that  time." 

"  She  did.     She  told  me  more  than  I  expected." 

"  Did  it  concern  your  parents  ?  " 

"It  did." 

"Good!  Then  you  no  doubt  heard  her  version  of 
the  crime." 

"Yes!" 

These  unsatisfactory  replies,  which  dropped  so 
strangely  from  Larcher's  lips,  at  once  puzzled  and 
irritated  the  questioner. 

"  You  don't  seem  anxious  to  confide  in  me,"  he  said, 
in  a  piqued  tone. 

"I  will  tell  you  all.  I  am  anxious  to  tell  you  all," 
replied  Larcher,  finding  his  tongue,  "but  I  do  not 
know  how  to  begin." 

"Oh,  I  shall  save  you  that  trouble  by  asking  you 
questions.     In  the  first  place,  who  is  Mrs.  Bezel  ?" 

"My  mother!" 

Tait  bounded  from  his  chair  with  an  expression  of 
incredulity.  This  unexpected  information,  so  abruptly 
conveyed,  was  too  much  for  his  self-control. 

"Your  mother!"  he  stammered,  hardly  thinking 
he  had  heard  aright.  "Are  you  in  earnest?  I  cannot 
believe  it.  According  to  the  notice  in  the  newspapers, 
according  to  Hilliston,  your  mother  died  in  London  in 
1867." 

"  She  did  not  die.  Her  death  was  a  feigned  one,  to 
escape  the  notoriety  gained  by  her  trial  at  Canterbury." 

"  Did  Mr.  Hilliston  know  she  was  alive  ?  " 

"Yes.  It  was  by  his  advice  that  she  changed  her 
name." 

"Oh!     Oh!"  said   Tait,  with  marked    significance; 


I04  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

"  Hilliston  knew,  Hilliston  advised.  Humph!  John 
Parver  may  be  right,  after  all." 

**Tait,  be  silent!     You  are  speaking  of  my  mother." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  my  dear  fellow,  but  I  really  do 
not  understand." 

"You  will  shortly.  I  will  tell  you  the  story  of  my 
mother's  troubles,  and  Hilliston's  kindness." 

"  Hilliston's  kindness,"  repeated  Tait,  in  a  skeptical 
tone.  Nevertheless  he  resumed  his  seat,  and  signified 
his  willingness  to  hear  the  narrative. 

The  wine  had  done  Claude  good,  and  restored  his 
self-possession;  so,  now  master  of  himself,  he  related 
all  that  had  passed  between  himself  and  Mrs.  Bezel. 
Gifted  with  a  retentive  memory,  and  no  mean  powers 
as  a  narrator,  he  succeeded  in  giving  Tait  a  vivid 
impression  of  the  conversation.  The  little  man,  with 
his  head  slightly  on  one  side,  like  a  bright-eyed 
sparrow,  listened  attentively,  and  not  till  the  story  was 
finished  did  he  make  an  observation  thereon.  To  this 
capability  of  listening  without  interruption  Tait  owed 
a  great  deal  of  his  popularity. 

"Truth  is  stranger  than  fiction,  after  all,"  said  he, 
when  Claude  ended;  "and  the  novel  is  less  dramatic 
than  the  episode  of  real  life.  John  Parver  did  not 
dare  to  insinuate  that  the  supposed  dead  widow  of  the 
murdered  man  was  alive.  Humph!  this  complicates 
matters  more  than  ever." 

"At  least  it  clears  the  character  of  Hilliston." 

"Yes,"  assented  Tait  doubtfully;  "I  suppose  it 
does." 

"  Can  you  doubt  it  ? "  said  Larcher,  dissatisfied  with 
this  grudging  consent.  "  You  can  now  see  why  Hillis- 
ton was  agitated  at  our  interview;  why  he  asked  me 


ON   THE    TRACK.  105 

not  to  see  Mrs.  Bezel,  so-called;  why  he  called  here 
the  same  evening  to  find  out  if  I  had  gone;  and  finally 
why  he  wished  to  prepare  me  before  seeing  her,  by  tell- 
ing of  the  tragedy." 

"  Oh,  I  see  all  that,"  said  Tait  quietly.  "  Nine  men 
out  of  ten  would  consider  Hilliston  a  most  disinter- 
ested person.  But  I  am  the  tenth  man,  and  am  there- 
fore skeptical  of  his  motive." 

"  But  what  motive  can  he  have  for " 

"  That  is  just  it,"  interrupted  Tait  vivaciously.  "  I 
can't  see  his  motive,  but  I  will  find  it  out  some 
day." 

"Well,  you  can  speak  for  yourself,"  said  Claude, 
frowning.  "After  what  my  mother  has  told  me,  I 
believe  Hilliston  to  be  an  upright  and  honorable 
man." 

"You  are  quite  right  to  do  so  on  the  evidence. 
Still,  if  I  were  you  I  would  not  keep  him  informed  of 

all  our  movements,  unless Do  you  intend  to  go 

on  with  the  matter  ? "  he  asked  abruptly. 

"Assuredly!  I  am  determind  to  find  out  who  killed 
my  father." 

Tait  walked  to  the  fireplace  and  took  up  his  position 
on  the  hearth-rug.  An  idea  had  entered  his  mind, 
which  he  did  not  intend  to  put  into  words.  Neverthe- 
less it  was  indirectly  the  reason  for  his  next  speech. 

"I  think,  after  all,  it  would  be  best  to  take  Hillis- 
ton's  advice,  and  let  sleeping  dogs  lie." 

He  had  not  calculated  the  effect  of  these  words  on 
his  hearer,  for  Claude  also  arose  from  his  chair,  and 
looked  at  him  with  angry  surprise. 

"I  don't  understand  you,"  he  said  coldly.  "Some 
hours  back,  and  you  were  more  eager  than  I  to  pursue 


lo6  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

this  unknown  criminal.  Now  you  wish  to  withdraw. 
May  I  ask  the  reason  of  this  sudden  change." 

"It  seems  to  be  useless  to  hope  to  find  the 
assassin,"  replied  Tait,  shrugging  his  shoulders. 
"  One  cannot  discover  a  needle  in  a  haystack." 

''Oh,  yes  you  can — by  patient  research." 

"Well,  even  that  would  be  easier  than  to  hope  to 
solve  a  mystery  which  has  been  impenetrable  for  five- 
and-twenty  years." 

"It  has  been  impenetrable  for  that  time  because  no 
one  has  tried  to  solve  it.  This  is  not  your  real  reason 
for  wishing  to  end  the  case.  What  is  your  reason  ? 
Speak!  I  insist  upon  knowing  the  truth." 

The  other  did  not  reply,  but  thrust  his  hands  deeper 
into  his  pockets,  and  maintained  a  masterly  silence. 
Irritated  by  this  negative  attitude,  Claude  placed  his 
hands  on  the  little  man's  shoulders  and  looked  at  him 
indignantly. 

"I  know  what  your  reason  is,  Tait,"  he  said 
rapidly;  "it  is  not  that  you  fear  we  may  learn  too 
little,  but  that  you  expect  we  will  learn  too  much." 

"Yes,"  replied  Tait  simply,  "that  is  the  reason. 
Is  it  not  an  all-sufficient  one  for  you  to  pause  ? " 

"  No  I"  shouted  Claude  savagely;  "  it  is  all-sufficient 
for  me  to  go  on.  You  think  that  I  may  discover  that 
Hilliston  is  the  criminal,  or  learn  that  my  mother  is 
accountable  for  the  crime.  I  tell  you  no  such  thing 
will  happen.  Hilliston  was  not  near  The  Laurels 
on  the  fatal  morning.  My  mother — I  have  told  you 
how  she  exonerated  herself,  and  the  exoneration  was 
substantiated  by  Denis  Bantry.     Both  are  innocent." 

"  It  may  be  so.     But  who  is  guilty  ?  " 

"  Jeringham.      I  believe  that  he  discovered  that  my 


ON    THE    TRACK.  107 

father  had  returned,  and  perhaps  knowing  of  this 
intrigue  between  him  and  Mona  Bantry,  remained  at 
The  Laurels,  unknown  to  my  mother,  in  order  to 
assist  her  as  a  friend." 

"  How  did  Jeringham  obtain  possession  of  the 
dagger  ? " 

"I  cannot  say.  We  must  find  out.  But  he  did 
obtain  possession  of  the  dagger,  and  during  a  quarrel 
with  my  father  killed  him  with  it.  He  fled  to  avoid 
the  consequences.  Oh,  yes!  I  swear  that  Jeringham 
is  guilty.  But  I  will  hunt  him  down,  if  I  have  to  do  it 
alone." 

''You  will  not  do  it  alone,"  said  Tait  quietly.  "I 
am  with  you  still." 

*'  But  you  said " 

"I  know  what  I  said!  I  think  it  is  best  to  leave 
well  alone.  But  since  you  are  set  on  learning  the 
the  truth,  I  will  help  you  to  the  best  of  my  ability. 
Only,"  added  Tait  explicitly,  "should  you  discover  the 
truth  to  be  unpalatable,  do  not  blame  me." 

"I  won't  blame  you.  I  am  certain  that  you  will 
find  that  I  am  right,  and  that  Hilliston  and  my  mother 
had  nothing  to  do  with  the  affair.  Help  me,  that  is 
all  I  ask.     I  will  bear  the  consequences." 

"Very  good!  Then  we  had  better  get  to  work," 
said  Tait  dryly.  "Just  go  and  dress,  my  dear  fellow, 
or  you'll  keep  dinner  waiting." 

"Why  should  I  dress?  I  am  not  going  out  to- 
night." 

"  Indeed  you  are !  We  are  due  at  Mrs.  Durham's  '  At 
Home  '  at  ten  o'clock." 

"I  shan't  go.  I  am  in  no  mood  for  frivolity.  I 
would  rather  stay  at  home  and  think  over  the  case. 


lo8  2^ HE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

It  is  only  by  hard  work  that  we  can  hope  to  learn  the 
truth." 

"Very  true.  At  the  same  time  it  is  necessary  for 
you  to  go  out  to-night,  if  only  to  meet  with  John 
Parver. " 

"The  author  of  'A  Whim  of  Fate,'  "  asked  Claude 
eagerly,  "is  he  in  town  ?  " 

"Yes.  And  he  will  be  at  Mrs.  Durham's  to-night. 
We  must  see  him,  and  find  out  where  he  obtained  the 
materials  for  his  novel." 

"  Do  you  think  such  information  will  lead  to  any 
result  ?"  asked  Claude  dubiously. 

"I  don't  think.  I  am  sure  of  it,"  retorted  Tait 
impatiently.      "  Now  go  and  dress." 

Larcher  departed  without  a  word. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE    UPPER    BOHEMIA. 

The  name  Bohemia  is  suggestive  of  unknown  talent 
starving  in  garrets,  of  obdurate  landladies,  of  bac- 
chanalian nights,  and  shabby  dress.  Murger  first 
invested  the  name  with  this  flavor,  and  since  his  time 
the  word  has  become  polarized,  and  indicates  nothing 
but  struggling  humanity  and  unappreciated  genius. 
Yet  your  true  Bohemian  does  not  leave  his  country 
when  he  becomes  rich  and  famous.  It  is  true  that  he 
descends  from  the  garret  to  the  first  floor;  that  he 
fares  well  and  dresses  decently;  but  he  still  dwells  in 
Bohemia.  The  reckless  air  of  the  hovels  permeates 
the  palaces  of  this  elastic  kingdom  of  fancy. 

Mrs.  Durham  was  a  Bohemian,  and  every  Thursday 
received  her  confreres  in  the  drawing  room  of  a  very 
elegant  mansion  in  Chelsea.  She  had  written  a  novel, 
"  I  Cling  to  Thee  with  Might  and  Main,"  and  this  hav- 
ing met  with  a  moderate  success,  she  posed  as  a  celeb- 
rity, and  set  up  her  salon  on  the  lines  of  Lady  Bless- 
ington.  Everyone  who  was  anyone  was  received  at 
her  "At  Homes,"  and  by  this  process  she  gathered 
together  a  queer  set  of  people.  Some  were  clever, 
others  were  not;  some  were  respectable,  others 
decidedly  disreputable;  but  one  and  all — to  use  an 
expression  usually  connected  with  crime — had  done 
something.     Novelists,  essayists,   painters,  poets,  and 

109 


no  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

musicians  were  all  to  be  found  in  her  rooms,  and  a 
more  motley  collection  could  be  seen  nowhere  else 
in  London.  Someone  dubbed  the  Chelsea  Mansions 
"  The  Zoo,"  and  certainly  animals  of  all  kinds  were  to 
be  found  there,  from  monkeys  to  peacocks. 

It  was  considered  rather  the  thing  to  be  invited 
to  "The  Zoo,"  so  when  brothers  and  sisters  of  the 
pen  met  one  another  there  they  usually  said:  "What! 
are  you  here  ? "  as  though  the  place  were  heaven,  and 
the  speaker  justifiably  surprised  that  anyone  should  be 
saved  except  himself  or  herself.  Literary  people  love 
one  another  a  degree  less  than  Christians. 

Hither  came  Tait  and  Claude  in  search  of  John 
Parver.  That  young  man  had  made  a  great  success 
with  his  novel,  and  was  consequently  much  sought 
after  by  lion  hunters.  However,  Tait  had  learned 
that  he  was  to  be  present  at  Mrs.  Durham's  on  this 
special  evening,  and  hoped  to  engage  him  in  conversa- 
tion, so  as  to  learn  where  he  had  obtained  the  materials 
for  his  story. 

When  they  arrived  the  rooms  were  quite  full,  and 
Mrs.  Durham  received  them  very  graciously.  It  was 
true  that  they  were  not  famous,  still  as  Tait  was  a 
society  man,  and  Claude  very  handsome,  the  lady  of 
the  house  good-humoredly  pardoned  all  mental  defi- 
ciencies. Tait  knew  her  very  well,  having  met  her  at 
several  houses,  but  she  addressed  herself  rather  to 
Claude  than  to  his  friend,  having  a  feminine  apprecia- 
tion of  good  looks. 

"My  rooms  are  always  crowded,"  said  she,  with 
that  colossal  egotism  which  distinguished  her  utter- 
ances. "You  know  they  call  me  the  new  George 
Eliot." 


THE    UPPER  BOHEMIA.  m 

"No  doubt  you  deserve  the  name,"  replied  Claude, 
with  mimic  gravity. 

"Oh,  I  suppose  so,"  smirked  the  lady  amiably. 
"You  have  read  my  novel,  of  course.  It  is  now  in  its 
fourth  edition,  and  has  been  refused  by  Smith  and 
Mudie.  I  follow  the  French  school  of  speaking  my 
mind." 

"And  a  very  nasty  mind  it  must  be,"  thought 
Larcher,  who  had  been  informed  about  the  book 
by  Tait.  He  did  not,  however,  give  this  thought 
utterance,  but  endeavored  to  generalize  the  con- 
versation. "You  have  many  celebrities  here  to- 
night, I  presume?" 

"My  Dear  Sir!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Durham,  in  capitals, 
"every  individual  in  this  company  is  famous!  Yonder 
is  Mr.  Padsop,  the  great  traveler,  who  wrote  'Mosques 
and  Mosquitoes.'  He  is  talking  to  Miss  Pexworth,  the 
writer  of  those  scathing  articles  in  The  Penny  Trumpet, 
entitled   'Man,  the  Brute.'     She  is  a  modern  woman." 

"Oh,  indeed!"  said  Claude  equably,  and  looked  at 
this  latest  production  of  the  nineteenth  century,  "she 
is  rather  masculine  in  appearance." 

"  It  is  her  pride  to  be  so,  Mr.  Larcher.  She  is  more 
masculine  than  man.  That  is  her  brother,  who  designs 
ladies'  dresses  and  decorates  dinner  tables." 

"Ah!  He  isn't  masculine.  I  suppose  nature 
wanted  to  preserve  the  balance  in  the  family.  The 
law  of  compensation,  eh?" 

"Oh,  you  are  severe.  Tommy  Pexworth  is  a  dear 
little  creature,  and  so  fond  of  chiffons.  He  knows 
more  about  women's  dress  than  his  sister." 

"So  I  should  think,"  replied  Claude  dryly.  He 
took  an  instant  and  violent  dislike  to  Mr.  Pexworth, 


112  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

who  was  one  of  those  feminine  Httle  creatures,  only 
distinguished  from  the  other  sex  by  wearing  trousers. 
"A  charming  pair,"  he  added,  smiling.  "I  don't 
know  which  I  admire  the  most.  The  sister  who  is 
such  a  thorough  gentlemen,  or  the  brother  who  is 
a  perfect  lady." 

"You  are  satirical,"  smiled  Mrs.  Durham,  enjoying 
this  hit  at  her  friends.  "  Now  you  must  take  me  down 
to  have  some  refreshment.     Really,  you  must." 

Thus  inspired,  Claude  elbowed  the  hostess  through 
the  crush,  and  escorted  her  to  a  bare  counter  in  the 
dining  room,  whereon  were  displayed  thin  bread  and 
butter,  very  weak  tea,  and  fossil  buns.  Mrs.  Durham 
evidently  knew  her  own  refreshments  too  well  to  par- 
take of  them,  for  she  had  a  mild  brandy  and  soda,  pro- 
duced from  its  hiding  place  by  a  confidential  waiter. 
She  asked  Claude  to  join  her,  but  he  refused  on  the 
plea  that  he  never  drank  between  meals. 

"But  you  are  not  a  brain-worker,"  said  Mrs.  Dur- 
ham, hurriedly  finishing  her  brandy  and  soda,  lest  her 
guests  should  see  it  and  become  discontented  with  the 
weak  tea;  "  if  I  did  not  keep  myself  up  I  should  die. 
Ah!     Why,  here  is  Mr.  Hilliston." 

"Hilliston!"  said  Claude,  astonished  at  seeing  his 
guardian  in  this  house. 

"  Yes.  Do  you  know  him  ?  A  dear  creature — so 
clever.  He  was  my  solicitor  in  a  libel  action  against 
The  Penny  Tmrnpct,  for  saying  that  I  was  an 
ungrammatical  scribbler.  Just  fancy!  And  they  call 
me  the  new  George  Eliot.  We  lost  our  case,  I'm  sorry 
to  say.  Judges  are  such  brutes!  Miss  Pexworth  says 
they  are,  ever  since  she  failed  to  get  damages  for  her 
breach  of  promise  case." 


THE    UPPER  BOHEMIA.  113 

"Here  comes  Mr.  Hilliston,"  said  Larcher,  rather 
tired  of  this  long-tongued  lady.  "I  know  him  very 
well,  he  is  my  guardian." 

''How  very  delightful!"  said  Mrs.  Durham,  with  the 
accent  on  the  "very."  "Oh,  Mr.  Hilliston,"  she 
continued,  as  the  lawyer  approached,  "we  were  just 
talking  about  you!  " 

"I  trust  the  absent  were  right  for  once,"  replied 
Hilliston,  with  an  artificial  smile  and  a  swift  glance  at 
Claude.      "  I  have  just  come  to  say  good-by. " 

"Oh,  not  yet,  surely  not  yet!  Really!"  babbled 
Mrs.  Durham  with  shallow  enthusiasm.  Then  finding 
Hilliston  was  resolved  to  go,  and  catching  sight  of  a 
newly  arrived  celebrity,  she  hastened,  after  the  ami- 
able fashion  of  her  kind,  to  speed  the  parting  guest. 
"Well,  if  you  must,  you  must.  Good-by,  good-by! 
Excuse  me,  I  see  Mr.  Rawler,  a  delightful  man — writes 
plays,  you  know.  The  new  Shakspere;  yes!"  and  thus 
talking  she  melted  away  with  a  babble  of  words,  leav- 
ing Hilliston  and  his  ward  alone. 

They  were  mutually  surprised  to  see  one  another, 
Claude  because  he  knew  his  guardian  did  not  affect 
Bohemianism,  and  Hilliston  because  he  thought  that 
the  young  man  had  left  town.  The  meeting  was 
hardly  a  pleasant  one,  as  Hilliston  dreaded  lest  Mrs. 
Bezel  should  have  said  too  much,  and  so  prejudiced 
Claude  against  him. 

"  I  understood  from  your  refusal  of  my  invitation 
that  you  had  gone  to  Thorston  with  Tait,"  said  he, 
after  a  pause. 

"I  am  going  to-morrow  or  the  next  day,"  replied 
Claude  quickly,  "but  in  any  event  I  intended  to  call 
on  you  before  I  left  town." 


114  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

"Indeed!"  said  Hilliston  nervously;  *'you  have 
something  to  tell  me  ? " 

"Yes.     I  have  seen  Mrs.  Bezel." 

"Good.     You  have  seen  Mrs.  Bezel." 

"And  I  have  made  a  discovery." 

"Oh!  Has  the  lady  informed  you  who  committed 
the  crime  ?  " 

"  No.     But  she  told  me  her  name." 

"Margaret  Bezel!  "  murmured  Hilliston,  wondering 
what  was  coming. 

"Not  Margaret  Bezel,  but  Julia  Larcher,  my 
mother." 

"She — she  told  you  that?"  gasped  Hilliston,  his 
self-control  deserting  him  for  the  moment. 

"Yes.  I  know  why  she  feigned  death;  I  know  how 
you  have  protected  her.  You  have  been  a  kind  friend 
to  me,  Mr.  Hilliston,  and  to  my  mother.  I  am  doubly 
in  your  debt." 

Hilliston  took  the  hand  held  out  to  him  by  Claude, 
and  pressed  it  cordially.  The  speech  relieved  him 
from  all  apprehension.  He  now  knew  that  Mrs. 
Bezel  had  kept  their  secret,  and  immediately  took 
advantage  of  the  restored  confidence  of  Claude.  His 
quick  wit  grasped  the  situation  at  once. 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  he  said  with  much  emotion,  "I 
loved  your  poor  father  too  much  not  to  do  what  I 
could  for  his  widow  and  son.  I  hope  you  do  not 
blame  me  for  suppressing  the  truth." 

"  No.  I  suppose  you  acted  for  the  best.  Still,  I 
would  rather  you  had  informed  me  that  my  mother  was 
still  alive." 

"  To  what  end  ?  It  would  only  have  made  you 
miserable.      I  did  not  want   to   reveal  anything  ;    but 


THE    UPPER  BOHEMIA.  115 

your   mother   insisted  that  you  should    be    made   ac- 
quainted with  the  past,  and  so — I  gave  you  the  papers." 

"  I  am  glad  you  did  so." 

**And  now,  what  do  you  intend  to  do?"  asked 
Hilliston  slowly.  "You  know  as  much  as  I  do.  Is 
there  any  clew  to  guide  you  in  the  discovery  that  your 
mother  still  lives  ?" 

'*  No.  She  can  tell  me  nothing.  But  I  hope  to 
find  the  clew  here." 

"Ah!     You  intend  to  speak  with  John  Parver?" 

"I  do,"  said  Claude,  rather  surprised  at  this  pene- 
tration;  "do  you  know  him  ?  " 

"I  exchangeda  few  words  with  him,"  replied  Hillis- 
ton carelessly.  "I  only  came  here  to-night  at  the 
request  of  Mrs.  Durham,  who  is  a  client  of  mine.  As 
I  paid  my  respects  to  her,  she  was  talking  to  John 
Parver,  and  he  was  introduced  to  me  as  the  latest  lion. 
So  you  still  intend  to  pursue  the  matter?"  added 
Hilliston,  after  a  pause. 

"Assuredly!  If  only  to  clear  my  mother,  and 
restore  her  to  the  world." 

"I  am  afraid  it  is  too  late,  Claude.  You  know  she 
is  ill  and  cannot  live  long." 

"Nevertheless,  I  wish  her  to  take  her  own  name 
again.  She  will  not  do  so  until  the  assassin  of  her 
husband — of  my  father — is  discovered,  so  you  see  it  is 
obligatory  on  me  to  find  out  the  truth." 

"I  trust  you  may  be  successful,"  said  Hilliston, 
sighing;  "  l)ut  my  advice  is  still  the  same,  and  it 
would  be  best  for  you  to  let  the  matter  rest.  After 
five-and-twenty  years  you  can  discover  nothing.  I 
cannot  help  you;  your  mother  cannot  help  you, 
so " 


II 6  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

"But  John  Parver  may,"  interrupted  Larcher 
sharply.  "  I  will  see  how  he  learned  the  details  of 
the  case." 

Before  Hilliston  could  make  further  objection, 
Tait  joined  them,  and  not  noticing  the  lawyer,  hastily 
took  Claude  by  the  arm. 

"I  have  been  looking  for  you  everywhere,"  said  he. 
"Come  and  be  introduced  to  Mr.  Linton." 

"Who  is  Mr.  Linton?" 

"John  Parver.  Rewrites  under  that  name.  Ah, 
Mr.  Hilliston,  I  did  not  see  you.  How  do  you  do, 
sir?" 

"I  am  quite  well,  Mr.  Tait,  and  am  just  taking  my 
departure,"  replied  Hilliston  easily.  "  I  see  you  are 
both  set  on  finding  out  the  truth.  But  you  will  learn 
nothing  from  John  Parver." 

"Why  not,  Mr.  Hilliston?" 

"Because  he  knows  nothing.  Good-night,  Claude 
—good-night,  Mr.  Tait!" 

When  Hilliston  disappeared  Tait  looked  at  Claude 
with  a  singular  expression,  and  scratched  his  chin. 

"You  see,"  said  he  quietly,  "Mr.  Hilliston  has 
been  making  inquiries  on  his  own  account." 

"You  are  incurably  suspicious,"  said  Claude  impati- 
ently.     "Hilliston  is  my  friend." 

"Yes.     He  was  your  father's  friend  also,  I  believe." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ? " 

"Nothing!  Nothing!  Come  and  cross-examine 
Frank  Linton,  alias  John  Parver." 

Clearly  Tait  by  no  means  so  satisfied  with  Hilliston 
as  Claude. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

A    POPULAR    AUTHOR. 

Bearing  in  mind  that  the  character  of  Hilliston  had 
been  rehabiUtated  by  Mrs.  Bezel,  it  was  natural  that 
Claude  should  feel  somewhat  annoyed  at  the  persistent 
mistrust  manifested  toward  that  gentleman  by  Tait. 
However,  he  had  no  time  to  explain  or  expostulate  at 
the  present  moment;  and  moreover,  as  he  knew  that 
the  little  man  was  assisting  him  in  this  difficult  case 
out  of  pure  friendship,  he  did  not  deem  it  politic  to 
comment  on  what  was  assuredly  an  unfounded  prej- 
udice. Tait  was  singular  in  his  judgments,  stubborn 
in  his  opinions;  so  Claude,  unwilling  to  risk  the  loss 
of  his  coadjutor,  wisely  held  his  peace.  His  astute 
companion  guessed  these  thoughts,  for  in  place  of 
further  remarking  on  the  inexplicable  presence  of 
Hilliston,  he  turned  the  conversation  toward  the  man 
they  were  about  to  see. 

"Queer  thing,  isn't  it?"  he  said,  as  they  ascended 
the  stairs.  "Linton  is  the  son  of  the  vicar  of 
Thorston. " 

"Ah!  That  no  doubt  accounts  for  his  intimate 
knowledge  of  the  locality.     Do  you  know  him  ? " 

"Of  course  I  do — as  Frank  Linton;  but  I  had  no 
idea  that  he  was  John  Parver. " 

"  Why  did  he  assume  a  nom  de plume  ?  " 

117 


ii8  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

« 

Tait  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Paternal  prejudice, 
I  believe,"  he  said  carelessly.  "  Mr.  Linton  does  not 
approve  of  sensational  novels,  and,  moreover,  wishes 
his  son  to  be  a  lawyer,  not  a  literary  man.  Young 
Frank  is  in  a  solicitor's  ofifice  in  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields, 
and  he  employed  his  evenings  in  writing  *  A  Whim  of 
Fate.'  He  published  it  under  the  name  of  'John 
Parver,'  so  as  to  hoodwink  his  father,  but  now  that  he 
has  scored  a  success  I  have  no  doubt  he  will  confess." 

''  Do  you  think  we  will  learn  anything  from  him  ?  " 

"We  will  learn  all  we  wish  to  know  as  to  where  he 
obtained  his  material.  The  young  man's  head  is 
turned,  and  by  playing  on  his  vanity  we  may  find  out 
the  truth." 

"  His  vanity  may  lead  him  to  conceal  the  fact  that 
he  took  the  plot  from  real  life." 

"I  don't  think  so.  I  know  the  boy  well,  and  he  is 
a  great  babbler.  No  one  is  more  astonished  than  I  at 
learning  that  he  is  the  celebrated  John  Parver.  I 
didn't  think  he  had  the  brains  to  produce  so  clever  a 
book." 

"It  is  clever!  "  assented  Claude  absently. 

"Of  course  it  is;  much  cleverer  than  its  author," 
retorted  Tait  dryly;  "  or  rather,  I  should  say,  its  sup- 
posed author,  for  I  verily  believed  Jenny  Paynton 
helped  him  to  write  the  book." 

"  Who  is  Jenny  Paynton  ?  " 

"A  very  nice  girl  who  lives  at  Thorston.  She  is 
twice  as  clever  as  this  lad,  and  they  are  both  great  on 
literary  matters.  But  I'll  tell  you  all  about  this  later 
on,  for  here  is  Linton." 

The  celebrated  author  was  a  light-haired,  light- 
complexioned    young    man    of    six-and-twenty,    with 


A    POPULAR   AUTHOR.  119 

bowed  shoulders,  a  self-satisfied  smile,  and  a  pince  nez, 
which  he  used  at  times  to  emphasize  his  remarks.  He 
evidently  possessed  conceit  sufificient  to  stock  a  dozen 
ordinary  men,  and  lisped  out  the  newest  ideas  of  the 
day,  as  promulgated  by  his  college,  for  he  was  an 
Oxford  man.  Although  he  was  still  in  his  salad  days, 
he  had  settled,  to  his  own  satisfaction,  all  the  questions 
of  life,  and  therefore  adopted  a  calm  superiority  which 
was  peculiarly  exasperating.  Claude,  liberal-minded 
but  hot-blooded,  had  not  been  five  minutes  in  his 
company  before  he  was  seized  with  a  wild  desire  to 
throw  him  out  of  the  window.  Frank  Linton  inspired 
that  uncharitable  feeling  in  many  people. 

For  the  moment,  Mr.  Linton  was  alone,  as  his 
latest  worshiper,  a  raw-boned  female  of  the  cab-horse 
species,  had  just  departed  with  a  fat  little  painter  in  quest 
of  refreshment.  Therefore,  when  he  turned  to  greet 
Claude,  he  was  quite  prepared  to  assume  that  fatigued 
self-conscious  air,  with  which  he  thought  fit  to  welcome 
new  votaries. 

"Linton,  this  is  Mr.  Larcher,"  said  Tait  abruptly. 
"  Claude,  you  see  before  you  the  lion  of  the  season." 

"It  is  very  good  of  you  to  say  so,  Mr.  Tait,"  sim- 
pered the  lion,  in  no  wise  disclaiming  the  compliment. 
"I  am  pleased  to  make  your  acquaintance,  Mr. 
Larcher." 

"  And  I  yours,  Mr.  Linton,  or  shall  I  say  Mr. 
Parver  ? " 

"Oh,  either  name  will  answer,"  said  the  author 
loftily,  "though  in  town  I  am  known  as  Parver  only." 

"And  in  Thorston  as  Linton,"  interpolated  Tait 
smartly.  "  Then  your  father  does  not  yet  know  what 
a  celebrated  son  he  has  ? " 


I20  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

"Not  yet,  Mr.  Tait.  I  intend  to  tell  him  next  week. 
1  go  down  to  Thorston  for  that  purpose." 

"Ah!  My  friend  and  I  will  no  doubt  meet  you 
there.  We  also  seek  rural  felicity  for  a  month.  But 
now  that  you  have  taken  London  by  storm,  I  suppose 
you  intend  to  forsake  the  law  for  the  profits." 

"Of  course  I  do,"  replied  Linton  quickly.  "I  never 
cared  for  the  law,  and  only  went  into  it  to  please  my 
father." 

"And  now  you  go  into  literature  to  please  Miss 
Paynton." 

Linton  blushed  at  this  home  thrust,  and  being 
readier  with  the  pen  than  the  tongue,  did  not  know 
what  answer  to  make.  Pitying  his  confusion,  and 
anxious  to  arrive  at  the  main  object  of  the  interview, 
Claude  interpolated  a  remark  bearing  thereon. 

"Did  you  find  it  difficult  to  work  out  the  plot  of 
your  novel,  Mr.  Linton?"  he  said,  with  assumed  care- 
lessness. 

"Oh,  not  at  all!  The  construction  of  a  plot  is 
second  nature  with  me." 

"  I  suppose  you  and  Miss  Paynton  talked  it  over 
together,"  said  Tait  artfully. 

"Well,  yes,"  answered  Linton,  again  falling  into 
confusion;  "I  found  her  a  good  listener." 

"  I  presume  it  was  all  new  to  her  ?  " 

"I  think  so.      Of  course  she  gave  me  some  hints." 

Evidently  Linton  was  determined  to  admit  nothing, 
so  seeing  that  Tait's  attack  was  thus  repulsed,  Claude 
brought  up  his  reserve  forces. 

"  I  saw  in  a  paper  the  other  day  that  your  book  was 
an  impossible  one — that  nothing  analogous  to  its  story 
ever  happened  in  real  life." 


A    POPULAR  AUTHOR.  I2I 

**  Several  critics  have  said  that,"  replied  Linton, 
growing  angry,  and  thereby  losing  his  caution,  ''but 
they  are  wrong,  as  I  could  prove  did  I  choose  to  do  so." 

"What!"  said  Claude,  in  feigned  astonishment. 
*'  Did  you  take  the  incident  from  real  life  ? " 

''The  tale  is  founded  on  an  incident  from  real  life," 
answered  Linton,  flushing.  "That  is.  Miss  Paynton 
told  me  of  a  certain  crime  which  was  actually  com- 
mitted, and  on  her  hint  I  worked  out  the  story." 

"Oh,  Miss  Paynton  told  you,"  said  Tait  smoothly; 
"and  where  did  she  see  the  account  of  this  crime?" 

"Ah,  that  I  cannot  tell  you,"  replied  Linton  frankly. 
"She  related  the  history  of  this  crime,  and  refused  to 
let  me  know  whence  she  obtained  it.  I  thought  the 
idea  a  good  one,  and  so  wrote  the  novel." 

"Why  don't  you  tell  this  to  the  world,  and  so  con- 
found the  critics  ?" 

"I  do!  I  have  told  several  people.  For  instance, 
I  told  a  gentleman  about  it  this  very  evening,  just 
because  he  made  the  same  remark  as  Mr.  Larcher 
did." 

Tait  drew  a  long  breath,  and  stole  a  look  at  Claude. 
That  young  man  had  changed  color  and  gave  utter- 
ance to  the  first  idea  that  entered  his  mind. 

"  Was  it  Mr.  Hilliston  who  made  the  remark  ?  " 

"Hilliston!  Hilliston!"  said  Linton  thoughtfully. 
"  Yes,  I  believe  that  was  the  man.  A  tall  old  gentle- 
man, very  fresh-colored.  He  was  greatly  interested 
in  my  literary  work." 

"Who  could  help  being  interested  in  so  clever  a 
book  ?  "  said  Claude,  in  a  meaning  tone.  "  But  Mr. 
Hilliston  is  a  lawyer,  and  I  suppose  you  do  not  like 
members  of  that  profession." 


122  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

**  Now,  why  should  you  say  that?"  demanded 
Linton,  rather  taken  aback  by  this  perspicacity. 

*'  Well,  for  one  thing  you  admit  a  dislike  for  the  law, 
and  for  another  you  make  Michael  Dene,  the  solicitor, 
commit  the  crime  in  *  A  Whim  of  Fate.'  " 

"  Oh,  I  only  did  that  as  he  was  the  least  likely  per- 
son to  be  suspected,"  said  the  author  easily.  "Jenny 
— that  is.  Miss  Paynton — wanted  me  to  make  Mark- 
ham  commit  the  crime." 

"  Markham  is  Jerringham,"  murmured  Tait,  under 
his  breath.  ''  Who  committed  the  crime  in  the  actual 
case  ?  "  he  added  aloud. 

"No  one  knows,"  answered  Linton,  shrugging  his 
shoulders.  "  The  case  as  related  to  me  was  a  mystery. 
I  solved  it  after  my  own  fashion." 

*'In  the  third  volume  you  trace  the  assassin  by 
means  of  a  breastpin  belonging  to  Michael  Dene," 
said  Claude,  again  in  favor.      "  Is  that  fact  or  fiction  ?  " 

"Fiction!  Miss  Paynton  invented  the  idea.  She 
said  that  as  the  dagger  inculpated  the  woman  the 
breastpin  found  on  the  banks  of  the  river  would  lead 
to  the  detection  of  the  man.  And,  as  I  worked  it  out, 
the  idea  was  a  good  one." 

"Ah!"  murmured  Tait  to  himself,  "I  wonder  if 
Mr.  Hilliston  had  anything  to  do  with  a  breastpin." 

By  this  time  Linton  was  growing  rather  restive 
under  examination,  as  he  was  by  no  means  pleased  at 
having  to  acknowledge  his  indebtedness  to  a  woman's 
wit.  Seeing  this  Tait  abruptly  closed  the  conversation, 
so  as  to  avoid  waking  the  suspicions  of  Linton. 

"A  very  interesting  conversation,"  he  said  heartily. 
"  I  like  to  get  behind  the  scenes  and  see  the  work- 
ing  of  a  novelist's  brain.     We  will   say  good-by  now 


A   POPULAR  AUTHOR.  123 

Linton,  and  I  hope  you  will  call  at  the  Manor  House 
next  week,  when  we  will  all  three  be  at  Thorston. " 

*' Delighted,  I'm  sure,"  replied  the  author,  and 
thereupon  melted  into  the  crowd,  leaving  Claude  and 
Tait  looking  at  one  another. 

"Well,"  said  the  former,  after  a  pause,  "we  have 
not  learned  much." 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  think  we  have  learned  a  great 
deal,"  said  Tait,  raising  his  eyebrows.  "We  know 
that  Linton  got  the  whole  story  from  Jenny  Paynton, 
and  that  Mr.  Hilliston  is  in  possession  of  the  knowl- 
edge." 

"  What  use  can  it  be  to  him  ?  " 

"  He  will  try  and  frustrate  us  with  Miss  Paynton,  as 
he  did  Mrs.  Bezel  with  you." 

"  Do  you  still  doubt  him  ?  "  asked  Claude  angrily. 

"Yes,"  replied  Tait  coolly,"!  still  doubt  him." 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

A    FALSE    MOVE. 

The  next  day  the  two  young  men  repaired  to  the 
club  for  the  purpose  of  having  luncheon  and  discuss- 
ing their  plans.  Contrary  to  the  wish  of  Claude,  his 
friend  did  not  deem  it  advisable  to  at  once  depart  for 
Thorston,  as  he  wished  to  remain  in  town  for  a  few 
days  on  business  connected  with  Hilliston. 

"  You  see,  you  are  quite  in  the  dark  regarding  that 
gentleman,"  said  Tait,  as  they  lighted  their  cigarettes 
after  dinner,  "and  before  we  commence  operations  at 
Thorston  it  will  be  advisable  to  know  that  he  is  not 
counteracting  our  efforts." 

"  In  that  case  you  had  better  go  down  to  Thorston 
and  I  will  remain  in  town  so  as  to  keep  an  eye  on 
Hilliston." 

"I  don't  think  that  will  be  necessary,"  replied  Tait 
reflectively,  "it  is  more  than  probable  that  Hilliston 
will  visit  Thorston." 

"  For  what  purpose  ?  " 

"Can't  you  guess?  Last  night  he  learned  from  Lin- 
ton that  Jenny  Paynton  supplied  the  material  for  that 
novel.  Consequently  he  will  see  her,  and,  if  possible, 
find  out  where  she  heard  the  story." 

"Yes;  I  suppose  he  will,"  said  Claude  thoughtfully. 
"By  the  way,  who  is  Miss  Paynton,  who  now  seems  to 
be  mixed  up  in  the  matter  ? " 

124 


A    FALSE  MOVE.  1 25 

**  She  is  the  daughter  of  an  old  recluse  called  Fer- 
dinand Paynton." 

"A  recluse!     Humph!     That's  strange. 

"Why  so?  You  would  not  say  so  if  you  saw  the  old 
man.  He  is  an  invalid  and  lives  in  his  library.  A 
charming  companion,  though  I  must  say  he  is  rather 
sad." 

"  Where  does  he  live  ?  " 

"At  Thorston,  half  a  mile  from  the  Manor  House. 
Not  very  rich,  I  should  think.  His  cottage  is  small,  like 
his  income." 

"And  his  daughter  lives  with  him  ?" 

"Yes.  A  pretty  girl  she  is,  who  inherits  his  literary 
tastes.  It  is  my  impression  that  she  wrote  the  most 
part  of  that  novel.  From  all  I  know  of  Frank  Linton 
he  is  given  more  to  poetry  than  to  prose.  Jenny  has 
the  brain,  not  Frank." 

"Ho,  ho!  "  said  Claude,  smiling.  "  Is  it  the  skepti- 
cal misogynistic  Tait  I  hear  speaking  ?  " 

"  Himself.  I  admit  that  I  do  not  care  for  women,  as 
a  rule,  but  there  are  exceptions  to  every  rule,  and  in 
this  case  Jenny  Paynton  is  the  exception." 

"  Is  she  in  love  with  our  author  ?  " 

"No.  But  I  rather  think  he  is  in  love  with  her,  as 
you  will  be  when  you  see  her." 

"I!  What  are  you  talking  about,  Tait  ?  I  have  more 
to  do  than  to  fall  in  love  with  country  wenches,  how- 
ever pretty." 

"Jenny  is  not  a  country  wench,"  said  Tait,  with 
some  displeasure;  "she  is  a  highly  educated  young 
woman." 

"Worse  and  worse!  I  hate  highly  educated  blue- 
stockings." 


126  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

"You  won't  hate  Jenny,  at  all  events.  Especially 
as  it  is  probable  you  will  see  a  great  deal  of  her." 

"No;  I  shall  keep  away  from  her,"  said  Claude 
doggedly. 

"That's  impossible.  We  must  maneuver  to  get  at 
the  truth.  By  asking  her  straight  out  she  certainly 
will  not  gratify  our  curiosity.  We  must  plot  and  plan, 
and  take  her  unawares.  She  is  not  a  fool,  like  Linton, 
remember." 

"What!  Do  you  call  a  lion  of  the  season  by  so 
opprobrious  a  name  ?  " 

"I  do,"  replied  Tait  serenely;  "because  I  don't 
believe  he  wrote  the  book." 

"Well!  well!  Never  mind  Linton.  We  have 
pumped  him  dry.  The  next  thing  is  to  tackle  the  fair 
Jenny.     How  do  you  intend  to  set  about  it  ?  " 

"I  can't  say,  at  present.  We  must  be  guided  by 
circumstances.  I  will  introduce  you  to  the  rector  and 
to  Mr.  Paynton.  There  will  be  musical  parties  and 
lawn  tennis  fetes,  so  in  some  way  or  another  we  may 
find  out  the  truth  ?  " 

"Does  anyone  else  live  with  Paynton;  his  wife,  for 
instance." 

"  No.  His  wife  died  before  he  came  to  Thorston, 
where  he  has  been  for  a  long  time.  An  old  servant 
called  Kerry  lives  with  him." 

"  Man  or  woman  ?  " 

"  Man.     A  queer  old  fellow,  rather  morose." 

"  H'm!  A  flattering  description.  By  the  way,  he 
bears  the  same  name  as  the  ancient  retainer  in 
Boucicault's  play." 

"Why  shouldn't  he?" 

"  It  may  be  an  assumed  name.*" 


A    FALSE   MOVE.  127 

Tait  threw  a  surprised  glance  at  his  friend,  and 
laughed  quickly. 

"  Who  is  suspicious  now  ?  "  said  he,  smiling.  "You 
blame  me  for  suspecting  Hilliston,  yet  here  you  are 
doubtful  of  people  whom  you  have  never  seen." 

Before  Larcher  could  answer  this  home  thrust,  a 
waiter  entered  with  a  letter  for  him  which  had  just 
arrived. 

"From  Hilliston,"  said  Claude,  recognizing  the 
writing.      "I  wonder  what  he  has  to  say  ?" 

"It's  only  another  move  in  the  game,"  murmured 
Tait;  then  as  Claude,  after  glancing  at  the  letter, 
uttered  an  ejaculation  of  surprise,  he  added:  "What 
is  the  matter  ?  " 

"Hilliston  is  going  down  to  Eastbourne." 

"Impossible!"  cried  Tait,  holding  out  his  hand  for 
the  letter.  "  He  is  surely  not  so  clumsy  as  to  show 
his  hand  so  plainly." 

"  He  does,  though.     Read  the  letter  yourself." 

"My  Dear  Claude  [wrote  Hilliston]:  Mrs.  Hil- 
liston has  decided  to  leave  town  for  Eastbourne  this 
week,  so  it  is  probable  we  will  see  you  and  Mr.  Tait 
down  there.  If  you  can  spare  the  time  come  to  dinner 
at  half-past  seven  to-night,  and  tell  me  how  you  are 
getting  on  with  your  case. 

"  Yours  very  sincerely, 

''  Francis  Hillston." 

"Well,"  said  Claude,  as  Tait  silently  returned  the 
letter,  "what  do  you  think  ?" 

"  I  think  that  Hilliston  intends  to  look  up  Jenny 
Paynton." 


128  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

"I  can  see  that,"  replied  Claude  impatiently,  "but 
touching  this  invitation  to  dinner." 

"Accept." 

"But  I  promised  to  see  my  mother  to-night,  and  tell 
her  about  John  Parver.  She  will  expect  me,  as  I  have 
written." 

"I  will  take  your  apologies  to  her,"  said  Tait 
quietly. 

"You?" 

"  Yes.  Listen  to  me,  Claude,"  continued  the  little 
man  in  a  tone  of  suppressed  excitement.  "  You  will 
keep  your  belief  in  Hilliston.  I  tell  you  he  is  your 
enemy  and  wishes  you  to  leave  this  case  alone.  To- 
night he  will  make  one  last  attempt  to  dissuade  you. 
If  he  succeeds  he  will  not  go  to  Eastbourne.  If  he 
fails  you  can  depend  on  it  he  will  try  and  see  Jenny 
before  we  do.  Now,  to  thwart  his  aims  we  will  go  down 
to  Thorston  by  an  early  train  to-morrow  morning." 

"But  I  must  see  my  mother  before  I  leave  town." 

"  No!     I  will  tell  her  all  she  wishes  to  know." 

"  She  might  not  like  it." 

"This  is  not  a  case  for  likes  or  dislikes,"  said  Tait 
grimly;  "but  a  question  of  getting  the  better  of  Hillis- 
ton. You  must  dine  with  him  to-night,  and  find  out, 
if  possible,  if  it  was  his  wife  or  himself  who  suggested 
this  visit  to  Eastbourne.  You  need  not  tell  him  we 
go  down  to-morrow.  Say  you  don't  know — that  you 
await  my  decision.  Try  and  learn  all  you  can  of  his 
attitude  and  plans.  Then  we  will  discuss  the  matter 
when  you  return.  On  my  part,"  continued  Tait  signifi- 
cantly, "I  may  have  some  something  to  say  about 
your  mother." 

"You  want  to  see  her  ?" 


A    FALSE  MOVE.  1 29 

"Yes.     I  am  extremely  anxious  to  see  her." 

"  Perhaps  you  suspect  her!  "  cried  Claude,  in  a  fiery 
tone. 

'*  Bless  the  man,  what  a  temper  he  has!"  said  Tait 
jocosely.  "I  don't  suspect  anyone  except  Hilliston. 
But  I  am  quicker  than  you,  and  I  wish  to  learn  pre- 
cisely what  your  mother  has  to  say.  A  chance  remark 
on  her  part  may  set  us  on  the  right  path." 

"Well,  I  will  be  guided  by  you,"  said  Claude,  in  a 
few  minutes.  "  You  can  go  to  Hampstead,  and  I  will 
dine  with  Hilliston.  But  I  don't  like  the  task.  To  sit 
at  a  man's  table  and  scheme  against  him  is  not  my 
idea  of  honor." 

"Nor  is  it  mine.  You  are  doing  no  such  thing. 
All  I  wish  you  to  do  is  to  observe  Hilliston's  attitude 
and  hold  your  tongue.  There  is  nothing  wrong  in 
that.     I  want  to  find  out  his  motive  for  this  behavior." 

"  Then  why  not  see  him  yourself!  " 

"  I  will  see  him  at  Thorston.  Meantime  it  is  neces- 
sary that  I  become  acquainted  with  your  mother. 
Now  come  and  wire  an  acceptance  to  Hilliston,  and 
write  a  letter  to  your  mother  for  me  to  deliver." 

Claude  obeyed.  He  was  quite  content  to  accept  the 
guidance  of  Tait  in  this  matter,  and  began  to  think 
that  his  friend'  was  right  in  suspecting  Hilliston.  Else 
why  did  the  lawyer's  plans  so  coincide  with  their  own. 

"Mind  you  don't  tell  Hilliston  too  much,"  said 
Tait,  when  the  wire  was  despatched. 

"I  shall  tell  him  that  we  go  to  Thorston  shortly, 
and  that  we  saw  John  Parver." 

"No;  don't  tell  him  about  John  Parver.  He  will 
be  certain  to  mention  the  subject  first." 

"Well,  and  if  he  does " 


I30  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

"Oh,  you  must  use  your  brains,"  replied  Tait  ironi- 
cally. "Baffle  his  curiosity,  and  above  all,  make  no 
mention  of  the  breastpin  episode  related  in  the  third 
volume." 

"Why  not?" 

"  Because  Jenny  Paynton  told  Linton  of  that.  She 
could  not  have  obtained  it  from  the  newspapers,  as  it 
is  not  related  therein." 

"  It  is  pure  invention." 

"No!     I  believe  it  to  be  a  fact." 

"  But  who  could  have  told  it  to  Miss  Paynton  ? " 

"Ah!"  said  Tait,  in  a  low  tone.  "Find  me  the 
person  who  told  her  that  and  I'll  find  the  man  who 
murdered  your  father." 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE    HUSBAND    AT    KENSINGTON    GORE. 

To  a  woman  who  rules  by  right  of  beauty  it  is  a 
terrible  thing  to  see  her  empire  slipping  from  her 
grasp  by  reason  of  gray  hairs  and  wrinkles.  What 
desperate  efforts  does  she  make  to  protract  her  sway, 
how  she  dyes  and  paints  and  powders  and  tight  Jaces — 
all  to  no  end,  for  Time  is  stronger  than  Art,  and  finally 
he  writes  his  sign-manual  too  deep  to  be  effaced  by 
cosmetics.  Mrs.  Hilliston  was  not  yet  beaten  in  the 
fight  with  the  old  enemy,  but  she  foresaw  the  future 
when  she  would  be  shamed  and  neglected  close  at 
hand. 

Perhaps  it  was  this  premonition  of  defeat  that  made 
her  so  unamiable,  sharp,  and  bitter  on  the  night  when 
Claude  came  to  dine.  She  liked  Claude  and  had  stood 
in  the  place  of  a  mother  to  him;  but  he  was  a  man,  and 
handsome,  so  when  she  saw  his  surprised  look  at  her 
changed  appearance  all  the  evil  that  was  in  her  came 
to  the  surface. 

Yet  she  need  not  have  felt  so  bitter  a  pang,  had  she 
taken  the  trouble  to  glance  at  her  image  in  the  near 
mirror.  It  reflected  a  tall,  stylish  figure,  which,  in  the 
dim  light  of  the  drawing  room,  looked  majestic  and 
beautiful.  It  was  all  very  well  to  think  that  she 
appeared  barely  thirty  in  the  twilight,  but  she  knew 
well  that  the  daylight  showed  up  her  forty-seven  years 


132  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

in  the  most  merciless  manner.  Velvet  robes,  diamond 
necklaces,  and  such  like  aids  to  beauty  would  not 
make  up  for  lack  of  youth,  and  Claude's  ill-advised 
start  brought  this  home  to  her. 

Ten  years  before  she  had  married  Hilliston  in  utter 
ignorance  of  the  house  at  Hampstead.  Though  she 
did  not  know  it  she  was  not  unlike  her  rival.  There 
was  the  same  majesty,  the  same  imperious  beauty,  the 
same  passionate  nature,  but  Mrs.  Bezel  was  worn  and 
wasted  by  illness,  whereas  Mrs.  Hilliston,  aided  by  art, 
looked  a  rarely  beautiful  woman. 

People  said  she  had  not  done  well  to  marry  Hilliston. 
She  was  then  a  rich  widow  from  America,  and  wanted 
to  take  a  position  in  society.  With  her  looks  and  her 
money,  she  might  have  married  a  title,  but  handsome 
Hilliston  crossed  her  path,  and,  though  he  was  then 
fifty  years  of  age,  she  fell  in  love  with  him  on  the  spot. 
Wearied  of  Mrs.  Bezel,  anxious  to  mend  his  failing 
fortunes,  Hilliston  accepted  the  homage  thus  offered. 
He  did  not  love  her,  but  kept  that  knowledge  to  him- 
self, so  Mrs.  Derrick,  the  wealthy  widow,  secured  the 
man  she  idolized.  She  gave  all,  wealth,  beauty,  love, 
and  received  nothing  in  return. 

During  all  their' married  life  her  love  had  undergone 
no  abatement.  She  loved  her  husband  passionately, 
and  her  one  object  in  life  was  to  please  him.  At  the 
time  of  the  marriage  she  had  rather  resented  the 
presence  of  Claude  in  Hilliston's  house,  but  soon 
accepted  him  as  an  established  fact,  the  more  so  as 
he  took  up  his  profession  shortly  afterward,  and  left 
her  to  reign  alone  over  the  heart  of  her  husband. 
When  the  young  man  called  she  was  always  kind  to 
him,  she  constantly  looked  after  his  welfare,  and  play- 


THE   HUSBAND  AT  KENSINGTON  GORE.      133 

fully  styled  herself  his  mother.  Claude  was  greatly 
attached  to  her,  and  spoke  of  her  in  the  highest  terms, 
but  for  the  life  of  him  he  could  not  suppress  that  start, 
though  he  knew  it  wounded  her  to  the  heart.  During 
his  five  years  of  absence  she  had  aged  greatly,  and  art 
seemed  rather  to  accentuate  than  conceal  the  trutli. 

"  You  find  me  altered,  I  am  afraid,"  said  she  bitterly; 
"  age  is  robbing  me  of  my  looks." 

"By  no  means,"  answered  Claude,  with  a  desire  to 
please  her;  "  at  the  worst,  you  are  only  growing  old 
gracefully." 

"Small  comfort  in  that,"  sighed  Mrs.  Hilliston. 
"I  do  not  want  to  grow  old  at  all.  However,  it  is  no 
use  fighting  the  inevitable,  but  I  hope  I'll  die  before  I 
become  a  hag." 

"  You  will  never  become  one." 

"I'm  not  so  sure  of  that.  I'm  one  of  those  large 
women  who  turn  to  bones  and  wrinkles  in  old  age." 

"In  my  eyes  you  will  always  be  beautiful,  Louise," 
said  Hilliston,  who  entered  at  this  moment.  "You 
are  an  angel  ever  bright  and  fair." 

"  You  have  not  lost  the  art  of  saying  pretty  things, 
Francis,"  replied  his  wife,  greatly  gratified;  "but 
there  is  the  gong.  Claude,  take  your  mother  in  to 
dinner." 

The  young  man  winced  as  she  said  this,  thinking  of 
his  real  mother  who  lay  sick  and  feeble  at  Hampstead. 
Hilliston  saw  his  change  of  countenance,  and  bit  his 
lip  to  prevent  himself  remarking  thereon.  He  guessed 
what  Claude  was  thinking  about,  and  thus  his  thoughts 
were  turned  in  the  same  direction.  At  the  present 
moment  the  memories  thus  evoked  were  most 
unpleasant. 


134  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

During  dinner  Mrs.  Hilliston  recovered  her  spirits 
and  talked  freely  enough.  No  one  was  present  save 
Claude  and  her  husband,  so  they  were  a  very  pleasant 
party  of  three.  While  in  the  full  flow  of  conversation, 
Claude  could  not  help  thinking  that  Tait  was  unjust  to 
suspect  the  master  of  the  house  of  underhand  dealings; 
for  Hilliston  was  full  of  smiles  and  geniality,  and  did  his 
best  to  entertain  his  guest.  Could  Claude  have  looked 
below  the  surface  he  would  have  been  considerably 
astonished  at  the  inward  aspect  of  the  man.  Yet  a 
hint  was  given  him  of  such  want  of  concord,  for 
Hilliston  showed  the  cloven  hoof  before  the  meal 
ended. 

"So  you  are  going  to  Eastbourne,"  said  Claude, 
addressing  himself  to  Mrs.  Hilliston.  "I  hope  you 
will  come  over  to  Thorston  during  your  stay." 

"It  is  not  unlikely,"  replied  the  lady.  "Francis 
intends  to  make  excursions  all  round  the  country." 

"  Only  for  your  amusement,  my  dear,"  said  Hillis- 
ton hastily.  "You  know  how  dreary  it  is  to  pace 
daily  up  and  down  that  Parade." 

"  I  think  Eastbourne  is  dreary,  in  any  case.  It  is 
solely  on  your  account  that  I  am  going." 

Hilliston  did  not  answer,  but  stole  a  glance  at 
Claude  to  see  what  he  thought.  The  face  of  the 
young  man  was  inscrutable,  though  Claude  was  men- 
tally considering  that  Tait  was  right,  and  Hilliston's 
journey  to  Eastbourne  was  undertaken  to  interview 
Jenny  Paynton. 

"I  don't  like  your  English  watering-places,"  con- 
tinued Mrs.  Hilliston  idly.  "  They  are  so  exasperat- 
ingly  dull.  In  America  we  can  have  a  good  time  at 
Newport,  but  all  your  south  coast  is  devoid  of  amuse- 


THE  HUSBAND  AT  KENSINGTON  GORE.      13S 

ment.  Trouville  or  Dieppe  are  more  enjoyable  than 
Eastbourne  or  Folkestone." 

"The  fault  of  the  national  character,  my  dear 
Louise.  We  English  take  our  pleasures  sadly,  you 
know." 

For  the  sole  purpose  of  seeing  what  effect  it  would 
produce  on  the  lawyer  Claude  purposely  introduced  the 
name  of  the  town  where  his  father  had  met  his  death. 

"I  wonder  you  don't  try  an  inland  watering-place, 
Mrs.  Hilliston,"  he  said  calmly;  "  Bath  or  Tunbridge 
Wells  or — Horriston. " 

Hilliston  looked  up  quickly,  and  then  busied  himself 
with  his  food.  Discomposed  as  he  was,  his  iron  will 
enabled  him  to  retain  a  quiet  demeanor;  but  the  effect 
of  the  name  on  the  wife  was  more  pronounced  than  it 
was  on  the  husband.  Her  color  went,  and  she  laid 
down  her  knife  and  fork. 

*'Ah,    I    don't    know  Horriston,"    she  said  faintly. 

"Some  inland Ah,  how  hot   this  room  is.     Open 

the  window,"  she  added  to  the  footman,  "we  want 
fresh  air." 

Rather  astonished  at  the  effect  thus  produced, 
Claude  would  have  spoken  but  that  Hilliston  fore- 
stalled him. 

"The  room  is  hot,"  he  said  lightly,  "but  the  fresh 
air  will  soon  revive  you,  Louise.  I  am  glad  we  are 
going  to  Eastbourne,  for  you  sadly  need  a  change." 

"The  season  has  been  rather  trying,"  replied  his 
wife,  resuming  her  dinner.  "What  were  you  saying 
about  Horriston,  Claude?" 

"Nothing.  I  only  know  it  is  a  provincial  town  set 
in  beautiful  scenery.  I  thought  you  might  wish  to 
try  a  change  from  the  fashionable  seaside  place." 


136  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

'*I  might  go  there  if  it  is  pretty,"  answered  Mrs. 
Hilhston,  who  now  perfectly  composed.  "Where  is 
Horriston  ? " 

"  In  Kent,"  interposed  Hilliston  quickly,  "not  very 
far  from  Canterbury.  I  have  been  there  myself,  but 
as  it  is  a  rather  dull  neighborhood,  I  would  not  advise 
you  to  try  it." 

Despite  her  denial  Claude  felt  certain  that  Mrs. 
Hilliston  was  acquainted  with  Horriston,  for  on  the 
plea  of  indisposition  she  left  the  table  before  the  dinner 
was  ended.  As  she  passed  through  the  door  she  play- 
fully tipped  Claude  on  the  shoulder  with  her  fan. 

"  Don't  forget  to  come  and  see  us  at  Eastbourne," 
she  said  vivaciously,  "and  bring  Mr.  Tait  with  you. 
He  is  a  great  favorite  of  mine." 

This  Claude  promised  to  do,  and,  when  she  left  the 
room,  returned  to  his  seat  with  a  rather  puzzled 
expression  on  his  face.  Hilliston  saw  the  look,  and 
endeavored  to  banish  it  by  a  hasty  explanation. 

"You  rather  startled  my  wife  by  mentioning  Hor- 
riston," he  said,  in  an  annoyed  tone.  "I  wish  you 
had  not  done  so.  As  it  is  connected  with  the  case 
she  naturally  feels  an  antipathy  toward  it." 

"What!  Does  Mrs.  Hilliston  know  about  my 
father's  death  ?  "  asked  Claude,  in  some  surprise. 

"Yes.  When  we  married,  she  wanted  to  know  why 
you  lived  in  the  house  with  me,  so  I  was  forced  to 
explain  all  the  circumstances." 

"  Do  you  think  that  was  necessary  ?" 

"I  do.  You  know  how  suspicious  women  are," 
replied  Hilliston  lightly;  "they  will  know  the  truth. 
But  you  can  trust  to  her  discretion,  Claude.  No  one 
will  hear  of  it  from  her." 


THE  HUSBAND  AT  KENSINGTON  GORE.      I37 

At  this  moment  a  footman  entered  the  room  with  a 
message  from  Mrs.  Hilliston. 

"  My  mistress  wants  to  know  if  you  have  the  third 
volume  of  *  A  Whim  of  Fate,'  sir  ?  "  said  the  servant. 

"No,"  replied  Hilliston  sharply.  ''Tell  your  mis- 
tress that  I  took  it  to  my  office  by  mistake.  She  will 
have  it  to-morrow." 

Claude  thought  this  strange,  and  when  the  foot- 
man retired  Hilliston  made  another  explanation  equally 
as  unsatisfactory  as  the  first. 

"I  am  so  interested  in  that  book  that  I  could  not 
leave  it  at  home,"  he  said  quickly;  "and  now  that  I 
have  met  the  author  I  am  doubly  interested  in  it." 

Another  proof  of  Tait's  acumen.  Hilliston  was  the 
first  to  introduce  the  subject  of  John  Parver. 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

A    DUEL    OF    WORDS. 

A  LONGISH  pause  ensued  between  the  two  men. 
Hilliston  seemed  to  be  in  no  hurry  to  continue  the 
conversation,  and  Claude,  with  his  eyes  fixed  absently 
on  his  glass,  pondered  over  the  facts  that  Mrs.  Hillis- 
ton had  an  aversion  to  Horriston,  and  that  the  lawyer 
had  taken  the  third  volume  of  the  novel  out  of  the 
house.  The  two  facts  seemed  to  have  some  connec- 
tion with  each  other,  but  what  the  connection  might  be 
Claude  could  not  rightly  conclude. 

From  his  frequent  talks  with  Tait  he  knew  that  the 
third  volume  contained  the  episode  of  the  scarfpin, 
which  was  instrumental  in  bringing  the  fictitious 
murderer  to  justice.  The  assassin  in  the  novel  was 
meant  for  Hilliston,  and  remembering  this  Claude 
wondered  whether  there  might  not  be  some  reason 
for  his  removal  of  the  book.  Mrs.  Hilliston  had 
quailed  at  the  m-ention  of  Horriston,  and  the  explana- 
tion given  by  her  husband  did  not  satisfy  Larcher. 
What  reason  could  she  have  for  taking  more  than 
a  passing  interest  in  the  tragic  story  ?  Why,  after  ten 
years,  should  she  pale  at  the  mention  of  the  neighbor- 
hood ?  Claude  asked  himself  these  two  questions, 
but  could  find  no  satisfactory  answer  to  either  of 
them. 

He   was   toying  with  his  wineglass  while  thinking, 

138 


A   DUEL   OF    WORDS.  139 

when  a  sudden  thought  made  him  grip  the  slender 
stem  with  spasmodic  force.  Was  it  possible  that 
Mrs.  Hilliston  could  have  been  in  the  neighborhood 
five-and-twenty  years  before;  that  she  could  have 
heard  some  talk  of  that  scarfpin  which  was  not 
mentioned  at  the  trial,  but  which  Tait  insisted  was  an 
actual  fact,  and  no  figment  of  the  novelist's  brain; 
and  finally,  could  it  be  that  Hilliston  had  purposely 
removed  the  third  volume  of  "A  Whim  of  Fate"  so 
that  his  wife  should  not  have  her  memory  refreshed 
by  a  relation  of  the  incident.     It  was  very  strange. 

Thus  thinking,  Claude  glanced  stealthily  at  his 
guardian,  who  was  musingly  smoking  his  cigar,  and 
drinking  his  wine.  He  looked  calm,  and  content,  and 
prosperous.  Nevertheless,  Claude  was  by  no  means 
so  sure  of  his  innocence  as  he  had  been.  Hilliston's 
confusion,  his  hesitation,  his  evasion,  instilled  doubts 
into  the  young  man's  mind.  He  determined  to  gain 
a  knowledge  of  the  truth  by  questions,  and  mentally 
arranged  these  as  follows:  First  he  would  try  and  learn 
somewhat  of  the  past  of  Mrs.  Hilliston,  for,  beyond 
the  fact  that  she  was  an  American,  he  knew  nothing 
of  it.  Second,  he  would  lead  Hilliston  to  talk  of  the 
scarfpin,  and  see  if  the  reference  annoyed  him;  and, 
third,  he  would  endeavor  to  discover  if  the  lawyer  was 
averse  to  his  wife  reading  the  novel.  With  his  plans 
thus  cut  and  dried,  he  spoke  abruptly  to  his  guardian: 
"I  am  sorry  Mrs.  Hilliston's  health  is  so  bad." 
*^  It  is  not  bad,  my  dear  fellow,"  replied  the  lawyer, 
lifting  his  head.  '*  She  is  a  very  strong  woman;  but 
of  course,  the  fatigue  of  a  London  season  tells  on  the 
healthiest  constitution.  That  is  why  I  wish  her  to  go 
to  Eastbourne." 


I40  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

''Why  not  take  her  to  Horriston  ?" 

"Why  should  I  ?  She  connects  the  place  with  the 
story  of  your  father,  about  whom  I  was  forced  to  speak 
ten  years  ago;  and,  speaking  personally,  I  have  no 
desire  to  return  there,  and  recall  the  horrors  of  the 
past." 

"  You  were  greatly  affected  by  my  father's  death  ?" 

"Naturally;  he  was  my  dearest  friend.  I  would 
have  given  anything  to  discover  the  assassin." 

"  Did  Mrs.  Hilliston  give  you  her  opinion  as  to  who 
was  guilty  ?  " 

"  No.  I  told  her  as  little  as  I  could  of  so  painful  a 
subject.     She  is  not  in  possession  of  all  the  facts." 

"  At  that  rate  why  let  her  read  '  A  Whim  of  Fate '  ? " 

"I  don't  wish  her  to  read  it,"  answered  Hilliston 
quietly;  "but  I  left  the  novel  lying  about,  and  she 
read  the  first  two  volumes.  If  I  can  help  it,  she  shall 
not  finish  the  story." 

"Why  object  to  her  reading  the  third  volume  ?" 

"  Because  it  would  recall  the  past  too  vividly  to  her 
mind." 

"I  hardly  follow  you  there,"  said  Claude,  with  a 
keen  look.  "The  fact  to  which  you  refer  cannot 
exist  for  your  wife.  To  her  the  novel  can  only  be  a 
second  telling  of  the  story  related  by  you,  when  she 
wished  to  know  who  I  was." 

"That  is  very  true.  Nevertheless,  it  made  so  pain- 
ful an  impression  on  her  excitable  nature  that  I  am 
unwilling  that  her  memory  should  be  refreshed. 
Take  another  glass  of  wine,  my  boy." 

Hilliston  evidently  wished  to  turn  the  conversation, 
but  Claude  was  too  determined  on  learning  the  truth 
to  deviate  from  his  course.     Slowly  filling  his  glass 


A    DUEL   OF    WORDS.  141 

with  claret   he  pushed   the  jug  toward   Hilliston,  and 
pursued  his  questioning: 

"The  American  nature  is  rather  excitable,  isn't  it? 
By  the  way,  is  Mrs.  Hilliston  a  pure-blooded  Yankee  ?" 

''Yes,"  said  Hilliston,  with  suspicious  promptitude; 
"  she  was  a  Chicago  belle,  and  married  a  millionaire  in 
the  pork  line  called  Derrick.  He  died  soon  after  the 
marriage,  so  she  came  to  England  and  married  me." 

"  It  was  her  first  visit  to  England,  no  doubt." 

"Her  first  visit,"  replied  Hilliston  gravely.  "All 
her  former  life  was  passed  in  New  York,  Boston,  and 
Chicago.  But  what  odd  questions  you  ask,"  added 
the  lawyer,  in  a  vexed  tone.  "Surely  you  do  not 
think  that  my  wife  was  at  Horriston  twenty-five  years 
ago,  or  that  she  knows  aught  of  this  crime  save  what 
I  have  told  her?" 

"Of  course,  I  think  nothing  of  the  sort,"  said 
Larcher  hastily,  and  what  is  more  he  believed  what 
he  said.  It  was  impossible  that  Mrs.  Hilliston, 
American  born  and  bred,  who  had  only  been  in  England 
twelve  years,  should  know  anything  of  an  obscure 
crime  committed  in  a  dull  provincial  town  thirteen 
years  before  the  date  of  her  arrival.  Hitherto  his 
questionings  had  eventuated  in  little,  so  he  turned  the 
conversation  into  another  groove,  and  tried  to  learn 
if  Hilliston  knew  anything  of  Jenny  Paynton. 

"What  do  you  think  of  John  Parver  ? " 

"  He  seemed  an  intelligent  young  fellow.  Is  that 
his  real  name  ? " 

"  No.  His  name  is  Frank  Linton,  the  son  of  the 
vicar  of  Thorston." 

"What!  He  belongs  to  the  place  whither  you  go 
with  Tait,"  exclaimed  Hilliston,   with    a   startled  air. 


142  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

"That  is  strange.  You  may  learn  there  whence  he 
obtained  the  materials  for  his  novel." 

"  I  know  that.  He  obtained  them  from  Miss 
Paynton." 

"Who  is  she?" 

"A  literary  young  lady  who  lives  at  Thorston  with 
her  folks.  But  I  fancy  Linton  mentioned  that  he  had 
told  you  about  her." 

"  Well  he  did  and  he  didn't,"  said  Hilliston,  in  some 
confusion;  "that  is,  he  admitted  that  the  story  was 
founded  on  fact,  but  he  did  not  tell  me  whence  he 
obtained  such  facts.  I  suppose  it  is  your  intention  to 
question  this  young  lady." 

"Yes.  I  want  to  know  how  she  heard  of  the 
matter." 

"  Pooh!  Read  it  in  a  provincial  newspaper,  no 
doubt." 

"I  think  not,"  replied  Claude,  with  some  point. 
"  It  is  next  to  impossible  that  she  should  come  across 
a  paper  containing  an  account  of  the  trial.  People 
don't  keep  such  grewsome  matters  by  them,  unless 
they  have  an  interest  in  doing  so." 

"  Well,  this  young  lady  cannot  be  one  of  those  per- 
sons.    How  old  is  she  ?  " 

"  Four-and-twenty !  " 

"Ah!"  said  Hilliston  with  a  sigh  of  relief,  "she 
was  not  born  when  your  father  was  murdered.  You 
must  see  she  can  know  nothing  positive  of  the  matter. " 

"  Then  how  did  she  supply  Linton  with  the  materials 
for  this  book  ?  " 

"I  can  only  answer  that  question  by  reverting  to  my 
theory  of  the  newspaper." 

"Well,  even  granting  that   it   is   so,"  said   Larcher 


A    DUEL   OF    WORDS.  143 

quickly,  "she  knows  details  of  the  case  which  are  not 
set  forth  in  the  newspaper." 

"  How  do  you  know  this?"  asked  Hilliston,  biting 
his  lip  to  control  his  feelings. 

"Because  in  the  third  volume " 

"Nonsense!  nonsense!"  interrupted  Hilliston  vio- 
lently, "  you  seem  to  forget  that  the  hard  facts  of  the 
case  have  been  twisted  and  turned  by  the  novelist's 
brain.  We  do  not  know  who  slew  your  father,  but  the 
novelist  had  to  end  his  story, — he  had  to  solve  the 
mystery, — and  he  has  done  so  after  his  own  fashion." 

Rising  from  his  seat,  he  paced  hurriedly  to  and  fro, 
talking  the  while  with  an  agitation  strange  in  so  hard 
and  self-controlled  a  man. 

"For  instance,  the  character  of  Michael  Dene  is 
obviously  taken  from  me.  It  is  not  a  bit  like  me,  of 
course,  either  in  speech,  or  looks,  or  dress.  All  the 
novelist  knew  was  that  I  had  given  evidence  at  the 
trial,  and  that  the  dead  man  had  been  my  dearest 
friend.  The  circumstances  suggested  a  striking  dra- 
matic situation — that  the  dear  friend  had  committed 
the  crime  for  the  base  love  of  the  wife.  Michael  Dene 
is  guilty  in  the  novel — but  the  man  in  real  life,  my- 
self      You  know  all  I  know  of  the  case.     I  would 

give  ten  years  of  my  life,  short  as  the  span  now  is,  to 
find  the  man  who  killed  George  Larcher." 

This  was  strong  speaking,  and  carried  conviction  to 
the  heart  of  Claude,  the  more  so  when  Hilliston 
further  explained  himself. 

"On  the  nitrht  of  the  murder  I  was  at  the  ball  three 
miles  off.  I  knew  nothing  of  the  matter  till  I  was 
called  upon  to  identify  the  corpse  of  your  father.  It 
was   hardly  recognizable,  and   the  face  was  much  dis- 


144  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

figured,  but  1  recognized  him  by  the  color  of  his  hair 
and  the  seal  on  his  finger." 

"How  was  it  that  my  father  was  dressed  as 
Darnley?" 

"  John  Parver  explains  that,"  said  Hilliston  sharply. 
"  Jeringham — I  forget  his  name  in  the  novel — was 
dressed  as  Darnley,  and  I  believe,  as  is  set  forth  in  the 
book,  that  George  Larcher  assumed  the  dress  so  that 
under  his  mask  your  mother  might  mistake  him  for 
Jeringham.  Evidently  she  did  so,  as  he  learned  that 
she  loved  Jeringham " 

"One  moment,"  interposed  Claude  quickly,  "my 
mother  denies  that  Jeringham  was  her  lover." 

"Your  mother?" 

"Mrs.  Bezel." 

"True;  I  forgot  for  the  moment  that  you  knew  she 
was  alive.  No  doubt  she  is  right;  and  Jeringham  was 
only  her  friend.  But  in  the  novel  he  is  her  lover; 
Michael  Dene,  drawn  from  myself,  is  her  lover.  You 
see  fact  and  fiction  are  so  mixed  up  that  there  is  no 
getting  at  the  truth." 

*'  I  shall  get  at  the  truth,"  said  Claude  quietly. 

"  Never.  After  such  a  lapse  of  time  you  can  dis- 
cover nothing.  Better  let  the  dead  past  bury  its  dead. 
I  advised  you  before.  I  advise  you  now.  You  will 
only  torture  your  life,  cumber  it  with  a  useless  task. 
George  Larcher  is  dead  and  buried,  and  dust  by  this 
time.  No  one  knows  who  killed  him,  no  one  ever 
shall  know." 

"  I  am  determined  to  learn  the  truth!  " 

"  I  hope  you  may,  but  be  advised.  Leave  this 
matter  alone.  You  do  not  know  what  luisery  you  may 
be  laying  up  for  yourself.     Why,  you  have  not  even  a 


A    DUEL    OF    WORDS.  145 

clew  to  start  from!  Unless,"  added  Hilliston,  with  a 
sneer,  "you  follow  the  example  of  the  novelist  and 
elucidate  the  mystery  by  means  of  the  scarfpin." 

Again  Tait  was  right.  Hilliston  had  himself  intro- 
duced the  subject  of  the  scarfpin.  Claude  immedi- 
ately took  advantage  of  the  opening. 

"  I  suppose  that  episode  is  fiction  ?" 

"  Of  course  it  is.  No  scarfpin  was  found  in  the 
garden.  Nothing  was  found  but  the  dagger.  You 
know  that  Michael  Dene  is  supposed  to  drop  that  scarf- 
pin on  the  spot.  Well,  I  am  the  living  representative 
of  Michael  Dene,  and  I  assure  you  I  never  owned  a 
garnet  cross  with  a  central  diamond." 

"Is  that  the  description  of  the  scarfpin." 

"Yes.  Do  you  not  remember?  A  small  Maltese 
cross  of  garnets  with  a  diamond  in  the  center.  The 
description  sounds  fictitious.  Who  ever  saw  such  an 
ornament  in  real  life.  But  in  detective  novels  the 
solution  of  the  mystery  turns  on  such  gew-gaws.  A 
scarfpin,  a  stud,  a  link,  a  brooch — all  these  go  to  hang 
a  man — in  novels." 

This  assertion  that  the  episode  of  the  scarfpin  was 
fiction  was  in  direct  contradiction  to  that  of  Tait,  who 
declared  it  to  be  true.  Claude  was  torn  by  conflicting 
doubts,  but  ultimately  put  the  matter  out  of  his 
thoughts.  Miss  Paynton  alone  could  give  a  correct 
opinion  as  to  whether  it  had  emanated  from  her  fertile 
brain,  or  was  really  a  link  in  the  actual  case.  Judging 
from  the  speech  of  Hilliston,  and  the  silence  of  the 
newspaper  reports,  Claude  believed  that  Tait  was 
wrong. 

The  lawyer  and  his  guest  did  not  go  to  the  drawing 
room,  as  Mrs.  Hilliston  sent  word  that  she  was  going 


146  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

to  bed  with  a  bad  headache.  Under  the  circumstances 
Claude  took  his  leave,  having,  as  he  thought,  extracted 
all  necessary  information  from  Hilliston.  Moreover, 
he  was  anxious  to  get  back  to  Tait's  chambers  and 
hear  what  the  little  man  had  to  tell  him  about  Mrs. 
Bezel.     Hilliston  said  good-by  to  him  at  the  door. 

"  I  shall  see  you  at  Eastbourne,  I  suppose,"  he  said 
genially. 

"Yes.  I  will  drive  over  and  tell  you  what  Miss 
Paynton  says." 

The  door  closed,  and  Hilliston,  with  a  frown  on  his 
face,  stood  looking  at  the  floor.  He  was  by  no  means 
satisfied  with  the  result  of  the  interview. 

"I  wish  T  could  stop  him,"  he  muttered,  clenching 
his  fist;  "  stop  him  at  any  price.  If  he  goes  on  he  will 
learn  the  truth,  and  if  he  learns  the  truth — ah " 

He  drew  a  long  breath,  and  went  upstairs  to  his 
wife.  As  he  ascended  the  stairs  it  seemed  to  him  as 
though  he  heard  the  halting  step  of  Nemesis  following 
stealthily  behind. 


CHAPTER   XIX. 

TAIT    BRINGS    NEWS. 

As  quick  as  a  fast  hansom  could  take  him,  Claude 
drove  to  Earls  Street,  and  found  Tait  impatiently 
waiting  his  arrival.  The  little  man  had  a  look  of 
triumph  in  his  eyes,  which  showed  that  his  interview 
with  Mrs.  Bezel  had  been  to  some  purpose.  Dormer 
had  placed  wine  and  biscuits  on  the  table,  and,  made 
hungry  by  his  long  journey  to  Hampstead,  Tait  was 
partaking  of  these  modest  refreshments  when  Claude 
entered  the  room. 

"  I  thought  you  were  never  coming,"  said  he,  glanc- 
ing at  his  watch;  "  past  ten  o'clock.  You  must  have 
had  an  interesting  conversation  with  Hilliston  to  stay 
so  long." 

"  I  have  had  a  very  interesting  conversation.     And 

you  ?  " 

"Oh,  I  got  back  thirty  minutes  ago,  after  being 
more  than  an  hour  with  your  mother." 

"  Was  she  disappointed  at  my  non-appearance  ?  " 

"Very  much  so,  but  I  explained  that  you  had  to 
dine  with  Hilliston.  She  did  not  seem  to  like  that 
either." 

"Absurd!  She  thinks  no  end  of  Hilliston,  and 
advised  me  to  see  as   much   of   him   as   possible." 

"Nevertheless,  the  idea  that  you  were  dining  with 

147 


148  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

him  did  not  please  her;  I  could  only  quiet  her  by  tell- 
ing all  I  know  about  Mrs.  Hilliston." 

When  Tait  made  this  remark  Claude  was  taking  off 
his  cloak,  but  he  paused  in  doing  so  to  ask  a  question. 

"What  possible  interest  can  my  mother  have  in 
Mrs.  Hilliston?" 

"  I  don't  know.  But  she  asked  me  who  she  was,  and 
where  she  came  from.  Insisted  on  a  description  of 
her  looks,  and  altogether  pumped  me  dry  on  the  sub- 
ject. I  suppose  she  wished  to  know  something  of 
Hilliston's  domestic  felicity,  and,  as  he  has  not  enlight- 
ened her  on  the  subject,  applied  to  me." 

This  explanation,  which  was  accepted  implicitly  by 
Claude,  was  by  no  means  the  truth.  With  his  usual 
sharpness  Tait  had  noted  Mrs.  Bezel  was  profoundly 
jealous  of  the  lawyer's  wife,  and  from  this,  and  sundry 
other  hints,  had  drawn  conclusions  by  no  means  flat- 
tering to  the  lady  herself.  Still,  as  she  was  Claude's 
mother,  he  had  too  much  good  breeding,  and  too  much 
liking  for  his  friend,  to  state  his  belief — which  was  that 
the  bond  between  Mr.  Hilliston  and  Mrs.  Bezel  was  not 
of  so  harmless  a  nature  as  they  would  have  the  world 
believe. 

With  this  idea  in  his  head,  Tait  began  to  look  at  the 
case  from  the  point  of  view  adopted  by  John  Parver. 
Might  it  not  be  true  that  Hilliston  was  the  secret 
lover  of  the  wife  and  the  murderer  of  the  husband  ? 
Certainly  the  efforts  he  was  making  to  stay  Claude  in 
solving  the  mystery  gave  color  to  the  idea.  If  he  were 
innocent  of  crime  and  illicit  passion  he  would  surely 
be  anxious  to  hasten,  instead  of  retarding,  the  dis- 
covery. Tait's  private  opinion  was  that  Hilliston  had 
the    crime    of    murder    on    his    soul,   but    for   obvious 


TAir  BRINGS  NEWS.  I49 

reasons,  not  unconnected  with  Mrs.  Bezel,  he  did  not 
care  to  speak  openly  to  Larcher.  On  the  contrary, 
while  admitting  a  disbelief  in  the  lawyer,  he  feigned 
a  doubt  of  his  complicity  in  the  matter  which  he  was 
far  from  feeling. 

Under  these  circumstances  he  had  advised  Claude 
to  leave  the  matter  alone,  for  he  dreaded  the  effect  on 
his  friend's  mind  when  he  learned  the  truth. 

Whether  Hilliston  proved  innocent  or  not,  the 
unraveling  of  the  mystery  would  necessarily  result 
in  the  disclosure  of  the  relations  existing  between  him 
and  Mrs.  Bezel.  Tait  shrank  from  pursuing  investi- 
gations likely  to  lead  to  such  a  result,  but  the  deter- 
mination of  Claude  to  avenge  his  father's  murder 
left  him  no  option.  Against  his  better  judgment  he 
was  urged  along  the  path  of  discovery;  but  trusted 
when  the  time  came  to  soften  the  blow  of  the  inevit- 
able result. 

In  silence  he  heard  the  story  related  by  Claude  of 
the  evening  at  Hilliston's,  and  did  not  comment  on 
the  information  thus  given  so  speedily  as  Larcher 
expected.  He  thought  it  wiser  to  delay  any  remarks 
till  he  had  told  the  young  man  of  his  interview  with 
Mrs.  Bezel. 

"I  need  not  go  into  details,  Claude,"  he  said,  anx- 
ious not  to  say  too  much,  "  but  will  tell  you  as  shortly 
as  I  can.  Mrs.  Bezel — it  is  more  convenient  to  speak 
of  her  so  than  to  call  her  your  mother — is  not  pleased 
that  you  should  try  and  solve  this  mystery." 

"I  know  that.  She  thinks  it  is  hopeless,  and  is 
unwilling  that  I  should  waste  my  time  to  no  purpose. 
But  she  should  have  thought  of  that  before  inducing 
Hilliston  to  show  me  the  paper.     Now  it  is  too  late, 


150  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

and  for  my  own  satisfaction,  if  not  for  hers,  I  must  go 
on  with  the  matter.  Did  you  relate  our  conversation 
with  Linton  ?  " 

"Yes.  And  she  takes  the  same  view  of  it  as  Hillis- 
ton.  That  Miss  Paynton  got  the  case  from  a  bundle 
old  newspapers." 

"What  do  you  think  yourself  ?" 

"I  still  hold  to  my  opinion,"  said  Tait  quietly. 
"The  affair  was  related  to  Jenny  by  someone  who 
lived  in  Horriston  at  the  time  the  murder  took  place. 
Else  she  would  never  have  given  Linton  that  fact 
about  the  scarfpin,  which,  as  we  know,  is  not  men- 
tioned in  the  report  of  the  trial." 

"  Hilliston  says  that  the  episode  is  fiction." 

"  Mrs.  Bezel  says  it  is  fact." 

"What!  Was  a  scarfpin  of  garnets  really  found  in 
the  grounds  of  The  Laurels  ?  " 

"  It  was.  Mrs.  Bezel  described  the  jewel  to  me,  and 
asserted  that  it  was  discovered  near  the  bank  of  the 
stream." 

"  Does  she  know  to  whom  it  belonged  ?  " 

"No!  She  had  no  recollection  of  having  seen  it 
before.  Neither  your  father  nor  Jeringham  wore  a 
scarfpin  of  that  pattern." 

"  It  is  curious  that  Hilliston  should  insist  that  such 
a  pin  never  existed." 

"It  is  very  curious,"  assented  Tait  significantly, 
"  especially  as  it  was  shown  to  him  by  Denis  Bantry. 
This  one  fact  ought  to  convince  you  that  Hilliston  is 
playing  us  false." 

"My  doubts  were  confirmed  by  his  manner  to- 
night," replied  Claude  gloomily.  "  I  don't  know  what 
his  reason  may  be,  or  how  I  can  reconcile  his  present 


TAIT  BRINGS  NEWS.  151 

behavior  with  his  kindness  to  my  mother,  but  he  cer- 
tainly seems  anxious  to  thwart  us  if  he  can." 

Tait  guessed  what  the  reason  was  very  well,  but  was 
too  wise  to  explain  himself.  Granted  that  a  bond 
existed  between  Mrs.  Bezel  and  the  lawyer,  and  the 
whole  thing  became  clear,  but  Mrs.  Bezel  was  Claude's 
mother,  so  Tait  held  his  peace. 

"Why  wasn't  the  scarfpin  produced  at  the  trial?" 
asked  Claude,  seeing  his  friend  made  no  answer. 

"Only  one  man  can  answer  that  question — Denis 
Bantry." 

"  Does  my  mother  know  where  he  is  ?  " 

"No.  She  has  not  set  eyes  on  him  since  she  left 
Horriston. " 

"It  is  strange  that  he  should  have  suppressed  so 
important  a  piece  of  evidence,"  said  Claude  medita- 
tively, "devoted  as  he  was  to  my  father.  I  should 
have  thought  he  would  have  done  his  best  to  bring  the 
murderer  to  justice." 

"  Perhaps  he  did  not  know  who  the  murderer  was. 
However,  there  is  no  doubt  that  the  scarfpin  must 
have  told  him  something  about  which  he  judged  it 
wise  to  hold  his  tongue.  Perhaps  Miss  Paynton  can 
enlighten  us  on  the  subject." 

"Then  she  must  know  Denis  Bantry." 

"So  I  think,"  said  Tait  thoughtfully.  "The 
episode  of  the  scarfpin  was  only  known  to  your 
mother,  to  Hilliston,  and  to  Bantry.  Jenny  Paynton 
does  not  know  your  mother,  who  denied  all  knowledge 
of  her.  She  cannot  be  acquainted  with  Hilliston,  or 
he  certainly  would  not  have  let  her  make  use  of  the 
affair  for  Linton's  book,  even  if  he  had  told  her. 
There  only  remains  Denis  Bantry.      Now,  I  know  that 


152  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

Jenny  has  lived  all  her  life  at  Thorston,  so  if  she  saw 
this  man  anywhere  it  must  have  been  there." 

"  Is  there  anyone  in  the  neighborhood  you  think  is 
he  ?"  asked  Larcher,  greatly  excited. 

"  None  that  I  can  call  to  mind.  But  then,  I  don't 
know  the  neighborhood  very  well.  We  must  make  a 
thorough  exploration  of  it  when  we  are  down  there." 

"  Certainly.  But  it  seems  to  me  that  the  only  one 
who  can  put  us  in  the  right  track  is  the  girl." 

"  True  enough.  I  only  hope  she  will  be  amenable 
to  reason." 

Larcher  poured  himself  out  a  glass  of  wine  and 
drank  it  slowly.  Then  he  lighted  his  pipe  and  returned 
to  his  chair  with  a  new  idea  in  his  head. 

*'  I  wonder  why  Hilliston  told  that  lie  about  the 
scarfpin,  Tait  ?" 

"Ask  me  something  easier.  I  cannot  say.  We'll 
learn  nothing  from  him.  My  dear  fellow,  it  is  no  use 
asking  further  questions  of  your  guardian  or  of  your 
mother.  We  have  found  out  all  from  them  that 
we  can.  Nothing  now  remains  but  to  see  Jenny 
Paynton." 

"Quite  right.  And  we  go  to  Thorston  to- 
morrow ?  " 

"By  the  ordinary  train.  I  have  written  for  the 
dogcart  to  meet  us.  By  this  time  next  week  we  may 
know  a  great  deal — we  may  know  the  truth." 

"  That  is,  if  Hilliston  doesn't  thwart  us.  He  is  going 
down  to  Eastbourne,  remember." 

"I  know.  But  I  intend  to  get  what  the  Americans 
call  the  'inside  running,'  by  seeing  Jenny  to-morrow 
evening.  The  whole  case  turns  on  her  explanation  of 
the  scarfpin  episode. 


TAIT  BRINGS  NEWS.  I53 

''Well,"  said  Claude,  knocking  the  ashes  out  of  his 
pipe,  "we  found  Linton  through  his  book,  we  found 
Jenny  through  Linton.  Through  her  we  may  find 
Denis  Bantry." 

"And  through  Denis  Bantry  we  may  find  the  man 
who  killed  your  father,"  finished  Tait  triumphantly. 

"Well,  I  know  what  the  name  of  the  man  will  be." 

"What  will  it  be?" 

"  Jeringham. " 

Tait  shrugged  his  shoulders.  Knowing  what  he  did 
he  was  by  no  means  certain  on  that  point. 


CHAPTER  XX. 


A  PRECIS  OF  THE  CASE. 


A  MONTH  ago  had  anyone  prophesied  that  I,  Spenser 
Tait,  would  be  engaged  in  playing  the  part  of  an 
amateur  detective,  I  should  have  flatly  contradicted 
his  prognostication.  Yet  here  I  am  doing  my  best  to 
solve  the  mystery  which  hangs  round  the  death  of  my 
friend's  father.  I  cannot  say  that  I  object  to  the  task, 
for  there  is  something  tremendously  exciting  in  this 
man  hunt.  My  friendship  for  Claude  is  the  principal 
factor  which  induces  me  to  meddle  with  the  business; 
but  a  slight  flavoring  of  selfishness  is  also  present. 

Hitherto  we  had  been  fairly  successful,  and  have  at 
least  found  a  clew  likely  to  lead  to  some  certain  result. 
Between  Mrs.  Bezel,  Hilliston,  and  Linton's  book,  we 
have  learned  a  good  deal  of  the  case;  and  all  our 
knowledge  points  to  an  interview  with  Jenny  Paynton 
as  the  next  step  to  be  taken. 

To-morrow  we  start  for  Thorston  for  this  purpose,, 
but  before  exploring  the  new  field  I  judge  it  wise  to 
set  down  all  the  facts  which  have  come  to  our  knowl- 
edge, and  to  deduce  therefrom,  if  possible,  a  logical 
reason  for  our  future  actions.  I  have  my  suspicions, 
but  these  are  vague  and  intangible.  Claude  has  his 
suspicions,  but  these  do  not  coincide  with  niine.  He 
believes  Jeringham  to   be  guilty  of  the  crime.     I  think 

154 


A   PRECIS  OF    THE    CASE.  155 

Hilliston  is  likely  to  prove  the  assassin.     Both  of  us 
may  be  wrong. 

To  take  the  case  of  Mr.  Hilliston.  His  attitude  is 
decidedly  aggressive  at  the  present  moment,  and  he  is 
doing  his  best  to  dissuade  Claude  from  investigating 
the  case.  Why  should  he  do  so  ?  George  Larcher 
was  his  dearest  friend,  and  met  with  a  cruel  fate.  If 
there  is  any  chance  of  his  fate  being  avenged,  surely 
Hilliston  should  be  the  first  to  prosecute  the  inquiries. 
Instead  of  doing  so  he  hangs  back,  and  throws  cold 
water  on  my  efforts  and  on  Claude's.  He  must  have 
some  reason  for  his  actions.  Is  that  reason  to  be 
found  at  Clarence  Cottage  in  Hampstead  ? 

This  question  brings  me  to  a  delicate  point.  My 
work  is  hampered  by  the  fact  that  Mrs.  Bezel  is 
Claude's  mother,  and  I  dare  not  express  myself  as  I 
should  wish.  I  gather  from  the  report  of  the  trial  that 
Mrs.  Larcher  was  a  vain  and  silly  coquette,  who  threw 
away  the  love  of  a  good  man  for  the  indulgence  of  her 
own  selfish  instincts.  Guilty  she  may  have  been,  but 
not  with  Jeringham.  If  she  had  any  lover,  it  was 
Francis  Hilliston.  After  a  visit  to  Clarence  Cottage 
I  believe  the  view  taken  of  the  case  by  the  novelist  to 
be  the  right  one. 

During  my  interview  with  Mrs.  Bezel  I  noted  her 
every  look  and  action.  When  Hilliston's  name  oc- 
curred she  flushed  up  and  looked  savage;  she  was 
anxious  to  know  all  about  the  wife  at  Kensington 
Gore,  and  in  every  way  showed  that  she  had  more 
interest  in  the  man  than  she  cared  to  confess.  Again, 
she  told  me  that  her  illness  was  of  ten  years'  duration. 
Hilliston  has  been  married  ten  years.  What  is  more 
likely  than  that  he  should  have  wearied  of  the  invalid, 


156  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

and   so   deserted    her    for    Mrs.     Derrick,    the    rich 
widow. 

Mrs.  Bezel  is  jealous  of  Hilliston  and  of  his  wife. 
Her  love  has  changed  to  hatred,  and  I  verily  believe 
that  she  would  harm  him  if  she  could.  Already  she 
has  attempted  to  do  so,  for  it  was  only  her  threat  to 
reveal  all  to  Claude  that  made  Hilliston  produce  that 
report  of  the  Larcher  affair.  She  has  told  me  all  she 
knows,  but  I  cannot  help  thinking  that  she  is  keeping 
back  certain  facts  connected  with  the  case.  There  is 
a  hesitancy  and  doubt  in  her  speech  which  points  to 
some  secret.  If  I  could  learn  that  secret  it  might 
establish  the  guilt  of  Hilliston. 

And  yet  I  cannot  believe  that.  No  woman,  however 
vain,  however  frivolous,  would  have  lived  with  the  man 
who  murdered  her  husband,  who  slew  the  father  of 
her  child.  Mrs.  Bezel's  secret  may  not  directly  incul- 
pate Hilliston,  but  it  may  point  toward  him  as  the  possi- 
ble assassin.  But  I  cannot  believe  that  she  thinks  him 
guilty.  Their  relations  with  one  another  forbids  so 
horrible  a  supposition. 

Nevertheless,  Hilliston  is  afraid  of  the  truth  coming 
to  light.  He  denies  that  the  garnet  scarfpin  ever 
existed,  while  Mrs.  Bezel  said  she  saw  it  herself.  If 
the  lawyer  is  not  afraid,  why  should  he  tell  a  deliber- 
ate lie  ?  It  is  his  word  against  that  of  Mrs.  Bezel,  and 
as  her  statement  is  backed  up  by  the  description  in  the 
novel,  I  believe  she  is  telling  the  truth.  Can  it  be 
possible  that  the  scarfpin  belonged  to  Hilliston  and 
was  dropped  by  him  in  the  garden  of  The  Laurels 
on  the  night  of  the  struggle  ? 

Here  Hilliston  proves  an  alibi.  He  stated  to  Claude 
that  at  the  hour  of  three  o'clock,  when  the  crime  was 


A   PRECIS  OF   THE   CASE.  157 

presumably  committed,  he  was  at  the  ball  in  the 
Horriston  Town  Hall.  If  that  can  be  proved,  he 
must,    perforce,  be    innocent. 

Another  supposition:  Can  Mrs.  Larcher  be  actually 
guilty  of  her  husband's  death,  and,  knowing  this,  is 
Hilliston  anxious  to  stop  Claude  in  his  investigations 
lest  he  should  learn  so  terrible  a  truth  ?  I  cannot 
believe  this,  for  Mrs.  Larcher,  or  Bezel,  set  the  ball 
rolling  herself,  and  were  she  guilty  she  certainly  would 
not  have  run  such  risk. 

Then,  again,  Jeringham  fled  on  the  night  of  the 
murder.  For  what  reason  ?  If  Hilliston  killed 
Larcher  why  should  Jeringham  fly  ?  If  Mrs.  Bezel 
killed  her  husband  why  should  Jeringham  fly  ?  I  see 
no  reason  in  his  flight,  and  yet  if  he  were  guilty  and 
Hilliston  knew  him  to  be  guilty  why  should  he  try  and 
screen  him  at  the  present  time  ?  Altogether  the  case 
is  so  confusing  that  I  do  not  know  what  to  think  or 
whom  to  suspect. 

I  wonder  what  has  become  of  Mona  Bantry  and  her 
child  ?  Mrs.  Bezel  said  she  had  not  seen  the  girl  or 
her  brother  for  twenty-five  years.  Yet  they  must  be 
somewhere.  Circumstances  point  to  Jenny  Paynton 
having  heard  the  story  of  the  tragedy  from  Denis,  for 
no  one  else  could  have  revealed  the  episode  of  the 
scarfpin,  or  have  described  the  jewel.  If  Denis  told 
her  he  must  live  at  Thorston,  and  if  he  lives  there  his 
sister  must  be  with  him.  If  this  pair,  who  were  in  the 
house  on  the  night  of  the  murder,  can  be  found,  the 
truth  may  come  to  light. 

After  searching  Thorston  and  finding  out  all  I  can 
from  the  Bantrys, — presuming  them  to  be  there, — it  is 
my  intention   to   go  down  to   Horriston  and  find  out 


158  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

someone  who  remembers  the  case.  In  spite  of  the 
lapse  of  time  there  must  be  some  old  people  alive  who 
danced  at  that  ball  in  their  hot  youth.  They  may  be 
able  to  say  if  George  Larcher  was  there  present  in  the 
character  of  Darnley,  and  at  what  time  Hilliston  left 
the  ball.  I  may  also  hear  what  they  think  of  Jering- 
ham,  and  of  the  conduct  of  Mrs.  Bezel.  In  making 
these  investigations  I  shall  not  take  Claude,  as  I 
shrewdly  suspect  the  opinions  of  these  oldsters  regard- 
ing his  mother  are  anything  but  flattering  to  that  lady. 
If  I  go  to  Horriston  I  must  go  alone. 

On  reading  over  these  notes  I  am  hardly  satisfied 
with  them.  They  do  not  seem  to  give  me  much  basis 
on  which  to  work.  I  suspect  this  person  and  the  other, 
but  I  have  very  little  evidence  to  back  me  up  in  such 
suspicions.  The  only  thing  that  seems  clear  to  me  is 
that  Hilliston  has  some  object  in  thwarting  our  plans. 
What  the  object  is  I  must  find  out.  Perhaps  I  shall  do 
so  at  Thorston,  where  I  am  certain  to  meet  both  Hillis- 
ton and  his  wife. 

And  that  reminds  me  of  what  Claude  related  about 
her  emotion  this  evening.  It  is  certainly  curious,  but 
the  worst  of  dabbling  in  detective  business  is  that  one 
is  apt  to  get  over-suspicious.  In  this  case  I  think 
there  is  no  ground  for  suspicion.  Mrs.  Hilliston  is  an 
American,  and  came  to  England  twelve  years  ago.  I 
know  this  for  certain,  for  I  remember  when  she  made 
her  debut  in  society.  This  being  the  case,  she  cannot 
possibly  have  any  connection  with  Horriston,  and  her 
emotion  must  have  been  merely  the  recollection  of  the 
story  related  by  her  husband  when  he  told  her  of 
Claude. 

Well,  it  is  past  midnight,  and  I  had  better  end  these 


A   PRECIS  OF   THE   CASE.  159 

unsatisfactory  notes.  Detective  business  is  liarder 
than  I  thought.  How  am  I  to  evolve  order  out  of  all 
this  chaos  I  hardly  know,  save  to  trust  to  luck  and 
Jenny  Paynton.  And  so  to  bed,  as  saith  worthy 
Samuel  Pepys. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

THORSTON. 

It  is  astonishing  how  closely  one  village  resembles 
another  in  appearance.  The  square-towered  church, 
the  one  winding  street,  the  low-roofed  inn,  and  red- 
tiled  cottages,  isolated  by  narrow  alleys;  corn  lands 
and  comfortable  farms  around,  and  still  further  the 
mansions,  more  or  less  stately,  of  the  county  families. 
Go  where  you  will  in  the  southern  countries,  all  the 
villages  are  so  constituted;  one  description  serves  for 
all,  though  on  occasions  the  expanse  of  the  Channel 
introduces  a  new  feature  into  the  landscape.  Thorston 
was  of  the  same  class,  but,  in  its  own  opinion,  had 
more  pretentions  to  grandeur  than  its  neighbors. 

Before  the  Conquest  it  had  been  a  considerable 
Saxon  town,  and,  as  its  name  indicates,  had  flourished 
before  the  introduction  of  Christianity  into  England. 
There,  according  to  tradition,  a  temple  to  Thor  the 
Thunderer  had  stood  on  the  hill  now  crowned  with 
the  church;  hence  the  name  of  Thor's  town.  Report 
said  that  Edward  the  Confessor  had  built  the  church, 
but  of  his  work  little  remained,  and  the  present  build- 
ing was  due  to  the  piety  or  fears  of  a  Norman  baron, 
who  wished  to  expiate  his  sins  after  the  fashion  of 
those  times,  by  erecting  a  house  to  some  interceding 
saint.  In  the  present  instance  this  church  was  dedi- 
cated to   St.  Elfrida,  the  holy  daughter  of  Athelstan, 

1 60 


THORSTOM.  l6i 

who  renounced  her  father's  court  to  found  a  nunnery 
by  the  winding  river  Lax,  famous  for  salmon,  as  is 
plainly  hinted  by  its  Scandinavian  appellation.  Yet 
notwithstanding  church  and  tradition,  Thorston  had 
never  since  been  of  much  importance,  and  it  was  now 
but  an  ordinary  rural  village,  quaint  and  sleepy. 

From  Eastbourne  the  road,  winding,  dipping,  rising, 
and  curving  like  a  white  snake,  ran  over  hill,  through 
dale,  along  plain,  till  it  ultimately  formed  the  High 
Street  of  Thorston.  Thence  it  ran  again  into  the 
country,  but  at  this  point  it  made  its  way  between 
houses,  thatched  and  old;  and  toward  the  center 
opened  into  a  market-place  adorned  by  an  antique 
cross.  The  Inn  of  St.  Elfrida,  with  an  effigy  of  the 
saint  for  a  sign,  stood  on  the  right  of  this  square, 
fronting  the  battered  cross;  directly  opposite  a  narrow 
road  led  on  to  the  village  green,  at  the  end  of  which 
rose  the  low  hill  whereon  the  Church  of  St.  Elfrida 
stood  amid  its  trees.  Lower  down  by  the  Lax  could 
be  seen  the  ruins  of  her  nunnery,  and  a  well  frequented 
by  her  was  to  be  inspected  in  the  near  neighborhood. 
Here,  said  the  legend,  she  fought  with  the  devil,  who 
strove  to  carry  away  the  tower  of  the  church,  and 
being  worsted,  as  the  demons  always  were  by  Mother 
Church,  he  dropped  the  tower  a  few  yards  off  the  main 
building.  As  a  matter  of  fact  the  square  tower  is 
detached  from  the  church,  but,  as  has  before  been 
stated,  it  was  built  by  the  Normans  long  after  Elfrida 
was  laid  to  rest.  But  the  legend  took  no  account  of 
dates,  nor  did  the  natives  of  Thorston,  who  would  have 
been  highly  offended  had  anyone  denied  the  authen- 
ticity of  their  story.  In  confirmation  thereof  they 
referred  to  the  guide  book — a  notable  authority  truly. 


i62  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

The  whole  neighborhood  was  full  of  St.  Elfrida,  who 
must  have  been  a  busy  saint  in  her  day,  and  numerous 
tourists  came  to  view  church,  and  tower,  and  holy 
well.  The  village  derived  quite  an  income  from  her 
reputation,  and  valued  the  saint  accordingly.  Amid 
ancient  oaks  stood  the  gray  church  with  its  detached 
tower;  around  lichened  tombstones  leaned  over  one 
another,  and  rank  grass  grew  up  to  the  verge  of  the 
low  stone  wall  which  ran  like  a  battlement  round  the 
crest  of  the  little  hill.  A  flight  of  rugged  steps  led  up 
to  the  lych-gate,  and  here  stood  a  pretty  girl  in  con- 
verse with  Frank  Linton,  alias  John  Parver. 

It  was  a  hot  summer's  day,  and  the  golden  light, 
piercing  through  the  foliage  of  the  trees,  enveloped 
the  girl  in  a  glittering  haze.  She  was  extremely 
pretty;  dark-eyed,  dark-haired,  with  a  complexion  of 
roses  and  lilies,  and  as  neat  a  figure  as  was  ever  seen. 
Envious  people  said  that  Miss  Paynton  pinched  her 
waist,  but  such  was  not  the  case,  for  she  was  too 
careless  of  her  appearance,  and  too  careful  of  her 
health,  to  sacrifice  the  latter  to  the  former.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  she  appreciated  brains  more  than 
beauty,  and  much  preferred  to  exercise  the  first  in 
clever  conversation  that  to  be  complimented  on  the 
second.  Linton,  who  had  known  her  for  many  years, 
skillfully  combined  the  two  modes  of  paying  homage 
to  his  divinity.  That  he  received  hard  words  in 
return  was  to  be  expected,  for  Jenny  knew  her  power 
over  the  youth,  and  like  to  exercise  it.  She  was  the 
least  vain  of  mortals,  but  could  not  hide  from  herself 
that  she  was  clever  and  pretty,  and  therefore  entitled 
to  indulge  in  coquetry. 

"You  grow  more  beautiful  every  day,  Jenny,"  said 


THORSTON.  163 

Linton,  who  had  lately  arrived  from  town  and  was 
making  up  for  lost  time. 

"And  you  more  stupid,"  retorted  Miss  Paynton, 
climbing  up  on  the  low  wall,  where  she  sat  and  smiled 
at  him  from  under  her  straw  hat.  "  If  you  have  come 
here  to  pay  me  compliments  you  can  go  away  again. 
I  want  you  to  talk  sense,  not  nonsense." 

"  What  shall  I  talk  about  ? " 

"As  if  there  were  any  question  of  that,"  said  she,  in 
supreme  disdain.  "Are  you  not  famous  now?  Tell 
me  of  your  success." 

"You  know  about  it  already.  I  sent  you  all  the 
papers.  'A  Whim  of  Fate,'  is  the  book  of  the 
season." 

"Oh,  just  think  of  that  now!  Oh,  lucky,  lucky 
Frank!  So  young  and  so  successful.  You  ought  to 
be  happy." 

"I  am  happy,  because  I  now  see  a  chance  of  making 
you  my " 

"  Now  you  are  talking  nonsense,"  cried  Jenny,  ruth- 
lessly interrupting  him.  "  I  won't  hear  a  word  more, 
you  ridiculous  boy.  You  are  my  brother,  nothing 
more." 

"But " 

"  Don't  talk  about  it,  Frank.  Be  sensible.  Come 
now,  you  have  not  yet  told  me  how  your  father 
received  the  news." 

"Oh,  he  is  pleased,  of  course,"  said  Linton,  unwill- 
ingly changing  the  subject;  "but  he  reserves  his 
opinion  till  he  has  read  the  book.  If  he  doesn't  like 
it  he'll  very  likely  order  me  to  stop  writing." 

"  I'm  sure  he  won't,"  said  Jenny  promptly. 
"You'll    make    more  as  an  author   than  as  a  lawyer." 


164  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

"No  doubt,  if  you  continue  to  supply  me  with  such 
excellent  plots.     I  wish  I  had  your  invention,  Jenny." 

"  It  was  not  invention.  You  know  that  quite  well. 
I  found  an  account  of  the  trial  in  an  old  bundle  of 
provincial  newspapers.  I  couldn't  have  made  up  such 
a  story." 

"Jenny,"  asked  Linton,  with  some  apprehension, 
*'  has  your  father  read  the  book  ?" 

"  No;  I  asked  him  to  do  so,  but  he  refuses  to  read 
novels.  History  is  what  he  likes — kings  and  dates, 
and  battles.  Father  wouldn't  waste  a  minute  over 
fiction." 

"I  hope  he  won't  be  angry  at  your  giving  me  the 
plot,  Jenny." 

Miss  Paynton  stared  at  him  in  surprise,  and  burst 
into  a  merry  laugh.  His  objection  seemed  supremely 
ridiculous  to  her  at  that  moment. 

"  My  dear  boy,  why  should  he  ?  The  account  of  an 
old  murder  case  can  have  nothing  to  do  with  him.  I 
found  the  papers  in  the  garret  among  a  heap  of  old 
books.     I  don't  suppose  he  knows  of  their  existence." 

**  It  was  a  real  case,  wasn't  it  ?  " 

"Yes;  it  took  place  at  Horriston  in  1866.  But  of 
course  the  public  need  not  know  that." 

"  Well,  I  told  someone  about  it." 

"Oh,  you  are  an  idiot,  Frank;  or  else,"  added 
Jenny  more  graciously,  "you  are  very  honest.  I 
suppose  you  explained  that  the  story  was  founded  on 
fact?" 

"Yes." 

"Who  asked  you  about  it  ?  " 

"  Three  people.  An  old  gentleman,  and  two  young 
men." 


THORSTON.  165 

*'  What  are  their  names  ?  "  asked  Jenny  curiously. 

"  I  forget.  The  third  one  was  called  Tait,  I  think, 
but  I  don't  remember  the  names  of  the  other  two.  It 
doesn't  matter,  you  know,"  continued  the  novelist 
hastily;  "lots  of  authors  found  their  plots  on  episodes 
in  real  life." 

*'0h,  it's  of  no  consequence,"  said  Jenny  idly.  "  I 
suppose  they  thought  the  plot  was  too  clever  for  you 
to  invent.  At  all  events  the  credit  is  due  to  you  for 
solving  the  mystery." 

"Ah!  But  did  I  solve  it  properly?  Do  you  think 
Michael  Dene  committed  the  crime  ?  " 

"No,  Idon't!"  rejoined  Jenny  promptly.  "  I  think 
Jeringham  did." 

"  Jeringham.     Who  is  he  ?" 

"I  forgot,"  said  Jenny,  with  some  dismay,  "  I  did 
not  tell  you  the  real  names  of  the  people.  Jeringham 
is  the  man  you  call  Markham  in  the  book.  If  you 
remember,  I  wanted  you  to  make  him  commit  the 
crime." 

"  If  I  had  done  so  no  one  would  have  read  the  book," 
protested  the  author.  "  His  flight  made  it  so  patent 
that  he  was  guilty;  and  I  had  to  put  the  crime  on  to 
someone  like  Dene,  whom  no  reader  would  suspect. 
Do  you  think  that  Markham — Jeringham  really  com- 
mitted the  murder  ?" 

"Yes,  I  do.     If  he  was  innocent  why  did  he  fly? " 

"Was  he  ever  found  again,"  asked  Linton,  with 
some  curiosity. 

"  Never!  It  is  five-and-twenty  years  ago  since  the 
murder  was  committed,  and  it  is  a  mystery  to  this 
day." 

"  I'd  like  to  read  that  newspaper  report  for  myself," 


1 66  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

said  the  author,  after  a  pause.  ''Could  you  not  let 
me  see  it  ?  " 

Jenny  shook  her  head.  "I'm  afraid  not,"  she 
replied  guiltily.  "  You  see  Kerry  found  me  with 
the  papers  one  day  and  took  them  away.  He  was 
very  angry,  and  said  I  had  no  business  to  look  at 
them." 

"  My  stars!"  cried  Linton,  in  a  startled  tone;  "what 
will  he  say  when  he  finds  out  that  you  and  I  have  made 
use  of  them  ? " 

"He  won't  find  out,"  replied  Jenny,  jumping  down 
off  the  wall.  "  Kerry  never  reads  novels,  and  no  one 
will  tell  him.     Oh,  it's  quite  safe,  Frank,  quite  safe." 

"  I'm  not  so  sure  of  that,  Jenny.  My  father  will 
talk  about  my  book  to  Mr.  Paynton,  and  he'll  tell 
Kerry." 

"  Well,  what  if  he  does, "cried  Jenny,  skipping  down 
the  steps.  "  I'm  sure  I  don't  care  if  Kerry  does  know. 
Who  cares  for  a  musty,  fusty  old  crime  of  five-and- 
twenty  years  ago  ?  Don't  trouble  about  it,  Frank.  I'll 
take  the  blame." 

Linton  walked  on  in  silence  beside  her,  and  they 
entered  the  market  place  on  their  way  to  the  vicarage. 
He  was  beginning  to  have  some  qualms  about  the 
matter.  Kerry  had  a  very  bad  temper,  and  Linton 
was  by  no  means  anxious  to  encounter  him. 

"I  wish  we  had  left  it  alone,"  he  said  gloomily, 
pausing  by  the  cross  in  the  square. 

"  Nonsense!  Don't  be  a  moral  coward,"  said  Jenny 
pettishly.  "I'll  take  the  blame  on  myself.  Kerry 
can't  kill  me  be " 

At  this  point  she  was  interrupted  by  a  dog-cart 
containing  two  young  men,  which  spun  past   rapidly. 


THORSTON.  167 

The  driver  took  off  his  hat  to  Miss  Paynton  with  a 
smile. 

"Oh!"  said  Jenny  composedly,  when  the  vehicle 
had  vanished,  "  there  is  our  new  Lord  of  the  Manor, 
Mr.  Tait." 

"  Why,,  those  are  the  two  fellows  who  questioned 
me  about  my  story  !  "  cried  Linton. 

"Are  they?  Yes,  you  mentioned  the  name  of 
Tait,"  said  Jenny  quietly;  "but  what  does  it  matter  ? 
What  a  fuss  you  make  over  nothing." 

"Jenny,"  said  Linton  solemnly,  "there  is  going 
to  be  trouble  over  that  story." 

Miss  Paynton  stared  at  him  in  surprise,  then  pointed 
an  accusing  finger  at  him. 

"Francis  Linton,"  she  said  slowly,  "you  are  a  silly 
fool.  If  ever  I  help  you  again  in  your  writing,  I  give 
you  leave  to  marry  me." 

Then  she  ran  away  and  left  him  dumfounded  in 
the  market  place.  But  she  was  by  no  means  so  light- 
hearted  as  she  appeared  to  be.  Kerry's  anger,  the 
questions  of  the  two  strangers,  made  her  feel  uneasy, 
and  she  thought  it  would  have  been  better  had  she 
left  the  provincial  newspapers  in  the  garret.  But 
Fate  decided  otherwise,  and  Jenny  Paynton,  though 
she  knew  it  not,  was  an  unconscious  instrument  to 
revive  interest  in  a  forgotten  case,  to  solve  a  mystery 
of  five-and-twenty  years,  and  to  bring  an  unknown 
criminal  to  justice.  Life  is  a  chess  board,  we  are  the 
puppets,  and  Fate  plays- the  game. 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

IN    THE    CHURCH. 

Thorston  Manor,  built  in  broad  meadow  land, 
about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  the  village,  was  now 
the  property  of  Spencer  Tait.  He  had  purchased  it 
lately  at  a  small  price  from  old  Miss  Felcar,  the  last 
representative  of  that  ancient  family.  She,  unable  to 
maintain  the  house  in  its  original  splendor,  got  quit  of 
it  altogether  in  this  way,  and  shortly  afterward  took 
up  her  quarters  at  Eastbourne,  leaving  the  house  of 
her  ancestors  in  the  possession  of  a  stranger. 

The  house  itself  was  of  no  great  pretensions,  or  age, 
dating  only  from  ^the  second  George — a  square,  red- 
brick mansion,  only  redeemed  from  actual  ugliness  by 
the  mellow  beauty  of  its  hues.  The  grounds  them- 
selves were  better,  and  the  trees  best  of  all.  An 
avenue  curved  nobly  to  the  gate,  which  gave  on  the 
highroad,  and  to  the  right  of  this,  fronting  the  house, 
was  a  delightful  garden,  laid  out  in  the  Dutch  fashion. 
There  were  yew  trees  cut  into  quaint  shapes,  stiff  and 
formal  hedges  running  in  straight  lines,  and  beds  of 
old-fashioned  flowers.  A  fountain,  a  summer  house, 
and  a  statue  or  two  completed  the  furniture  of  this 
pleasant  ground,  to  which  Tait  introduced  his  friend 
with  unconcealed  pride. 

"I  paid  for  this,"  he  said,  looking  round  as  they 

i68 


IN   THE    CHURCH.  169 

paced  the  broad  walks.  "  By  itself  the  house  is  a 
monstrosity,  only  rendered  endurable  by  its  years; 
but  you  must  confess  that  the  garden  is  worth  the 
money." 

"It  is  certainly  quaint,"  replied  Larcher,  looking 
around  with  an  absent  air,  "but  I  do  not  care  for 
nature  in  buckram.  The  formality  of  this  place 
offends  my  eye." 

"Ah,  my  dear  fellow,  you  have  been  used  to  the 
wildness  of  New  Zealand  woods  of  late.  You  will  find 
these  grounds  grow  on  you.  I  shall  leave  you  alone 
this  afternoon  to  make  the  attempt." 

"Indeed,"  said  Larcher,  in  some  surprise  at  this 
cavalier  treatment,  "and  what  do  you  intend  to  do  ?" 

"  I  am  going  to  church." 

"  To  church — on  a  week-day  ?  " 

"Oh,  I  am  not  bent  on  devotion,  Claude.  But  Miss 
Paynton  is  the  organist  of  the  parish.  To-day  is 
Wednesday,  when  she  is  accustomed  to  practice 
between  three  and  five.     I  propose  to  see  her  there." 

"  Why  ?  " 

"Can't  you  guess  ?  To  forestall  her  with  Hilliston. 
That  gentleman  is  at  Eastbourne,  and  will  probably 
come  over  to-day  or  to-morrow  to  ask  Jenny  to  hold 
her  tongue.  As  we  can't  afford  to  run  such  a  risk,  I 
must  get  all  I  can  out  of  her  to-day." 

"Can  I  come  also  ?  " 

"No!"  replied  Tait  promptly.  "  It  would  be  neces- 
sary for  me  to  introduce  you." 

"  What  of  that  ?     Does  it  matter  ?  " 

"  It  matters  a  great  deal.  Miss  Paynton  has,  we 
believe,  obtained  the  plot  of  Linton's  novel  from  a 
report  of  the  trial.     She  will  know  the  name  of  Larcher, 


170  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

and  when  she  hears  that  you  are  called  so,  she  will 
probably  take  fright  and  hold  her  tongue." 

"  But  why  should  she  think  I  have  anything  to  do 
with  the  case  ?  " 

"Your  own  name.  Your  guardian's,"  answered 
Tait  quietly.  ''  Both  are  mentioned  in  the  report 
of  the  trial.  Oh,  I  assure  you,  Jenny  is  a  clever 
girl,  and  knows  that  two  and  two  make  four.  She 
will  put  this  and  that  together,  with  the  result  that 
nothing  will  be  gained  by  the  interview." 

''Well,  well,  go  alone,"  said  Claude  crossly; 
"though  I  envy  you  the  chance.  She  is  a  pretty 
girl,   from  the  glimpse  I  caught  of  her." 

"And  as  wise  as  she  is  pretty,"  laughed  Tait.  "I 
will  need  all  my  wits  to  deal  with  her.  Now,  is  it 
settled?" 

"Yes.  You  go  to  your  organist,  and  I'll  potter 
about  these  green  alleys  and  think  myself  an  abbe 
of  Louis  XIV. 's  time." 

Having  come  to  this  amicable  understanding,  they 
went  in  to  luncheon,  after  which  Tait  gave  Claude  a 
sketch  of  the  people  in  the  neighborhood.  Later  on 
he  sent  him  into  the  Dutch  garden  with  a  cigar  and  a 
book,  then  betook  himself  by  a  short  cut  through  the 
park  to  the  Church  of  St.  Elfrida.  Shortly  after  four 
he  entered  by  the  main  door,  and  found  himself  in  the 
aisle  listening  to  the  rolling  notes  of  the  organ. 

There  was  no  attempt  at  decoration  in  that  church, 
for  the  vicar  was  broad  in  his  views,  and  hating  all 
ritualism  from  his  soul,  took  a  pride  in  keeping  the 
edifice  bare  and  unadorned.  The  heavy  arches  of 
gray  stone,  the  white-washed  walls,  with  here  and 
there   a   mural    tablet,    the    plain    communion    table 


IN   THE   CHURCH.  17 1 

under  the  single  stained-glass  window;  nothing  could 
be  less  attractive.  Only  the  deep  hues  of  roof  and 
pews,  the  golden  pipes  of  the  organ,  and  the  noble 
lectern,  with  its  brazen  eagle,  preserved  the  church 
from  looking  absolutely  irreverent.  Through  the 
glazed  windows  of  plain  glass  poured  in  the  white 
light  of  day,  so  that  the  interior  lacked  the  reverent 
gloom,  most  fitted  to  the  building,  and  the  marks  of 
time  were  shown  up  in  what  might  be  termed  a  cruel 
manner.  Of  old,  St.  Elfrida's  had  been  rich  in 
precious  marbles,  in  splendid  altars,  and  gorgeous 
windows,  many-hued  and  elaborate;  but  the  Puritans 
had  destroyed  all  these,  and  reduced  the  place  to  its 
present  bareness,  which  the  vicar  took  a  pride  in  pre- 
serving. It  seemed  a  shame  that  so  noble  a  monu- 
ment of  Norman  architecture  should  be  so  neglected. 

The  red  curtains  of  the  organ  loft  hid  the  player,  but 
Tait  knew  that  it  was  Jenny  by  the  touch,  and  sat 
down  in  a  pew  to  wait  till  she  had  finished  her  prac- 
tising. One  piece  followed  the  other,  and  the  stately 
music  vibrated  among  the  arches  in  great  bursts  of 
sound,  a  march,  an  anthem,  an  offertory,  till  Tait 
almost  fell  asleep,  lulled  by  the  drone  of  the  pipes. 
At  length  Jenny  brought  her  performance  to  an  end, 
and  having  dismissed  the  boy  who  attended  to  the 
bellows,  tripped  down  the  aisle  with  a  music  book  under 
her  arm.  She  looked  as  fresh  and  pink  as  a  rose, 
but  quite  out  of  place  in  that  bare,  bleak  building. 
Toward  her  Tait  advanced  with  a  bow. 

"  Here  I  am,  you  see.  Miss  Paynton,"  he  said,  shak- 
ing her  by  the  hand.  "  I  heard  your  music,  and  could 
not  help  coming  in  to  listen.  I  hope  you  do  not  mind 
my  intrusion." 


172  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

"  Oh,  the  Lord  of  the  Manor  can  go  anywhere,"  said 
Jenny  demurely.  "lam  glad  to  see  you  again,  Mr. 
Tait.     The  second  time  to-day,  is  it  not  ?  " 

"Yes;  I  drove  past  you  in  the  market  place,  if  I 
remember  rightly.  Won't  you  sit  down.  Miss  Paynton, 
and  give  me  all  the  news.  I  am  terribly  ignorant  of 
local  gossip,  I  assure  you." 

Nothing  loath,  the  girl  seated  herself  in  a  pew  near 
the  door,  and  occupied  herself  in  fixing  her  glove. 
Remembering  the  conversation  with  Linton,  she  was 
slightly  uneasy  at  Tait's  very  direct  request,  but  think- 
ing that  it  could  not  possibly  have  anything  to  do  with 
the  plot  of  Linton's  novel,  resigned  herself  to  circum- 
stances. Before  the  conversation  ended  she  wished 
that  she  had  refused  to  speak  to  Tait  at  that  moment; 
but  it  was  then  too  late. 

"News,"  she  repeated  with  a  laugh,  "do  we  ever 
have  any  news  in  this  dreary  place.  I  should  rather 
ask  you  for  news,  Mr.  Tait,  who  are  fresh  from 
London." 

"  Oh,  but  no  doubt  our  young  author  has  already 
told  you  all  that  is  worth  hearing,"  said  Tait,  deftly 
leading  up  to  his  point;  "he  has  been  quite  the  lion 
of  the  season." 

"  Yes.  He  has  been  very  fortunate,"  replied  Jenny 
carefully.  She  did  not  relish  the  sudden  introduction 
of  this  forbidden  subject. 

"And  he  owes  it  to  you,  I  believe." 

"  To  me.  Good  gracious,  Mr.  Tait!  what  have  I  to 
do  with  Frank's  success  ? " 

"According  to  what  he  says,  everything." 

"What  do  you  mean,"  she  said,  sitting  up  very 
straight,  with  a  deeper  color  than  usual  on  her  cheek. 


IN   THE   CHURCH.  173 

"Why,"  said  Tait,  looking  directly  at  her,  and 
thereby  adding  to  her  confusion,  "  Frank  told  me  that 
you  supplied  the  plot  of  '  A  Whim  of  Fate.'" 

"  And  what  if  I  did,  Mr.  Tait  ?  " 

"  Oh,  nothing,  only  I  must  compliment  you  on  your 
— shall  we  say  selection  or  invention  ?  " 

"The  former,"  replied  Jenny,  with  extraordinary 
quickness.  "  Since  Frank  makes  no  secret  of  it,  why 
should  I  ?  The  plot  was  told  him  by  me,  and  I  found 
it  set  forth  as  a  trial  in  a  newspaper  of  1866." 

"H'm!     In  the  Canterbury  Observer,  I  believe?" 

"How  do  you  know  that  is  the  name  of  the  paper?" 
she  asked  in  a  nervous  tone. 

"I  learned  it  from  the  same  source  that  supplied 
me  with  the  history  of  the  Larcher  affair." 

"What!  you  also  know  the  name  of  the  case  ?" 

"  As  you  see." 

"Frank  does  not  know  it.  I  did  not  show  him  the 
papers.  I  suppressed  all  names  when  I  told  the  story," 
she  said  incoherently;   "but  now  you — you " 

"I  know  all.  Yes,  you  are  right,"  observed  Tait 
complacently.  "I  am  better  acquainted  with  the  plot 
of  '  A  Whim  of  Fate '  than  John  Parver  himself." 

Jenny  sat  looking  at  him  in  a  kind  of  wild  amaze- 
ment. From  the  significance  of  his  tone,  the  extent 
of  his  knowledge,  she  vaguely  felt  that  something  was 
wrong.  Again,  the  anger  of  Kerry,  the  conversation 
of  Linton,  came  into  her  mind,  and  she  saw  into  what 
difficulty  the  chance  telling  of  that  ancient  crime  had 
led  her.  Tait  noticed  that  she  was  perplexed  and 
frightened,  so  dexterously  strove  to  set  her  more  at 
ease  by  making  a  clean  breast  of  it,  and  enlisting  her 
sympathy  for  Claude, 


174  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

''You  saw  the  friend  who  was  with  me  in  the  cart, 
Miss  Paynton  ? " 

"Yes.     Who  is  he?" 

''Claude  Larcher!" 

"  Claude  La What  do  you  mean,  Mr.  Tait  ?     I 

am  in  the  dark.  I  do  not  understand.  Have  I  done 
anything  wrong  in — in " 

"In  telling  the  case  to  Linton?"  finished  Tait 
smoothly.  "By  no  means.  Asa  matter  of  fact  you 
have  done  my  friend  a  service." 

"He  is  called  Larcher!  Who  is  he?"  she  asked 
again  with  an  effort. 

"He  is  the  son  of  George  Larcher,  who  was 
murdered  at  Horriston  in  1866." 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

FACT    AND    FICTION. 

A  SILENCE  ensued  between  them;  Tait  waiting  to 
mark  the  effect  of  his  revelation,  while  Jenny  tried  to 
grasp  the  idea  that  fiction  had  changed  unexpectedly 
to  fact.  To  her  the  case  had  been  more  or  less  of  a 
romance,  far  removed  and  impossible;  as  such  she 
had  told  it  to  Linton;  but  now,  brought  face  to  face 
with  the  fact  that  the  murdered  man's  son  was  in  the 
neighborhood,  she  scarcely  knew  what  to  think,  cer- 
tainly she  was  ignorant  what  to  say.  The  shock  would 
have  unstrung  a  more  nervous  woman,  but  Jenny  Payn- 
ton  was  not  wanting  in  pluck,  and  so  braced  herself  up 
to  do  what  was  required  of  her.  Yet  it  took  her  a  little 
time  to  recover,  and  seeing  this,  Tait  afforded  her  the 
opportunity  by  talking  broadly  of  the  matter;  later  on 
he  intended  to  enter  into  details. 

"I  do  not  wonder  you  are  startled,  Miss  Paynton," 
he  said  easily;  "  this  is  a  coincidence  such  as  we  rarely 
meet  with  in  real  life.  My  friend  was  ignorant  of  his 
father's  fate,  but  one  evening  papers  were  put  into  his 
hands  which  recounted  the  tragedy;  papers  similar  to 
those  whence  you  obtained  the  story.  He  came  to 
tell  me  all,  but  scarcely  had  he  begun  his  relation, 
when  I  became  aware  that  I  knew  everything  before- 
hand." 

"Had  you  also  seen  the  papers,  Mr.  Tait  ?" 

175 


176  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

"No;  but  I  had  read  'A  Whim  of  Fate.'  There  I 
found  the  Larcher  affair  set  forth  in  the  guise  of  fic- 
tion. Astonished  at  this  I  sought  out  Linton,  who,  I 
learned,  was  the  author  hidden  under  the  name  of  John 
Parver,  and  asked  him  whence  he  obtained  his  material. 
He  mentioned  your  name,  and  so  I  have  come  to 
you." 

"Why?" 

"Can  you  ask?  To  find  out  all  you  know  of  the 
matter." 

"  For  what  reason  ?  " 

"I  think  you  can  guess  my  reason,"  replied  Tait 
quietly.  "  My  friend  Claude  Larcher  wishes  to  find 
out  who  killed  his  father." 

"After  five-and-twenty  years  ?     Impossible!  " 

"  So  I  said  at  first.  Now  I  am  of  a  different  opinion. 
In  a  short  space  of  time  we  have  found  out  a  great 
deal.  With  your  help  we  will  discover  more,  and  so 
in  the  end  the  matter  may  be  cleared  up." 

"  You  want  my  help  ?  " 

"Decidedly!  It  is  solely  for  that  reason  that 
Larcher  and  I  have  come  here." 

It  was  a  pale-faced  Jenny  who  sat  considering  a 
reply  to  this  remark.  She  began  to  be  aware  that  she 
had  inadvertently  set  a  ball  rolling,  the  progress  of 
which  she  was  powerless  to  stop.  That  chance  dis- 
covery in  the  garret  had  resuscitated  an  old  scandal, 
and  brought  her  into  contact  with  people  of  whose 
existence  she  had  hitherto  been  ignorant.  As  a  matter 
of  fact  Jenny  was  responsible  for  the  revival  of  the 
Larcher  affair.  Her  narration  of  the  plot  had  caused 
the  writing  of  the  novel,  and  that  in  its  turn  had 
freshened  the  memory  of  Mrs.  Bezel,  with  the   result 


FACT  AND  FICTION.  177 

that  Claude  had  been  told  the  truth.  Now  he  had 
come  to  the  source  to  learn  more. 

"I  don't  see  how  I  can  help,"  said  Jenny,  fencing 
with  the  inevitable.  *'If,  as  you  say,  Mr.  Larcher  saw 
the  Cajiterbury  Observe}-,  he  must  know  as  much  as 
I  do  about  the  matter." 

"Very  true,"  replied  Tait  promptly;  "but  there 
are  many  things  in  the  novel  which  are  not  mentioned 
in  the  report  of  the  case." 

"Those  things  are  fictitious.  You  must  go  to 
Frank  for  information  about  them." 

"Was  that  scarfpin  episode  fictitious?" 

"No,"  replied  Jenny,  with  some  hesitation. 
"Kerry  told  me  that." 

"Kerry!" 

"Our  man-servant.  He  has  been  with  my  father 
ever  since  I  can  remember,  and  is  quite  the  autocrat 
of  the  household.  He  found  me  with  those  papers 
one  day  after  I  told  Frank  the  story,  and  took  them 
away  from  me.  You  have  no  idea  how  angry  he  was 
that  I  had  read  them." 

"Yet  he  told  you  about  the  scarfpin  ?  " 

"Oh!  that  was  because  I  asked  him  who  had  com- 
mitted the  crime,"  said  Jenny  quickly.  "At  first  he 
would  not  talk  about  it,  but  when  I  said  that  no  doubt 
Jeringham  was  guilty,  since  he  had  fled,  Kerry  denied 
it,  and  asserted  that  the  crime  was  committed  by  the 
man  who  owned  the  garnet  scarfpin." 

"Did  he  say  who  owned  it  ?  " 

"No.  He  went  away  before  I  could  ask  him, 
and  will  not  let  me  speak  of  the  matter.  In  the 
book  Frank  makes  Michael  Dene  the  owner  of  the 
pin." 


178  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

''Ah!  and  Michael  Dene  is  Francis  Hilliston  in  real 
life." 

"How  do  you  know  that?"  asked  the  girl  quickly, 
with  a  nervous  start. 

"  My  dear  young  lady,  I  have  read  the  report  of  the 
case  and  the  novel.  It  is  easy  to  see  who  your 
fictitious  personages  are.  Do  you  know  Mr.  Hillis- 
ton ? " 

'*  A  little.  He  has  visited  my  father  once  or  twice, 
but  we  have  not  seen  him  now  for  many  years.  In 
fact,  I  had  almost  forgotten  his  name  till  I  saw  it  in 
the  case." 

"Humph!  In  the  novel  Michael  Dene,  the  man 
meant  for  Hilliston,  commits  the  crime.  Was  that 
your  idea  or  Linton's  ?" 

"  It  was  Frank's.  Dene  was  the  least  likely  person 
to  be  suspected,  and  it  was  necessary  to  keep  up  the 
mystery  to  the  end.  But  I  think  he  ought  to  have 
made  Markham  commit  the  crime." 

"  Markham  is  Jeringham,  is  he  not?"  said  Tait 
thoughtfully.  "With  your  permission.  Miss  Paynton, 
we  will  use  the  real  names,  not  the  fictitious.  It  will 
help  us  to  understand  the  matter  more  clearly." 

Jenny  stood  up,  and  tucked  the  music  book  under 
her  arm.  The  recollection  of  Kerry's  anger  made  her 
feel  that  she  was  unwise  to  talk  so  freely  to  a  stranger 
about  the  matter.  Hitherto,  Tait  had  taken  his  own 
way;  now  she  was  resolved  to  take  hers. 

"I  don't  want  to  speak  any  more  about  it, "  she 
said  resolutely.  "I  am  very  sorry  I  told  Frank  the 
story,  and  meddled  with  those  papers.  Let  me  pass, 
Mr.  Tait,  and  drop  the  subject." 

"No,  don't  do  that,"  cried  Tait,  rising  in  his  turn, 


FACT  AND  FICTION.  179 

and  barring  her  way.  ''You  must  not  fail  me  at  the 
eleventh  hour.  My  friend  is  bent  on  learning  the 
truth,  and  surely  you  will  not  grudge  him  help. 
Remember  it  is  the  murderer  of  his  father  whom  he 
desires  to  bring  to  justice." 

"  I  can't  say  any  more.  I  know  no  more,  Mr.  Tait. 
Do  you  know  what  I  am  about  to  do  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Tait,  looking  at  her  grave  face  in  some 
wonder. 

"I  am  going  home  to  tell  my  father  and  Kerry  what 
use  I  made  of  those  papers.  If  I  have  acted  wrongly, 
it  is  but  right  that  they  should  know." 

"  They  will  know  shortly  without  your  telling,  Miss 
Jenny." 

"  Ah,  you  intend  to  speak  of  the  matter  yourself  ?  " 

"  Perhaps!     But  in  this  case  I  allude  to  Hilliston. " 

"Hilliston!"  repeated  Jenny,  in  surprise.  "What 
has  he  to  do  with  the  matter  ? " 

"A  great  deal,  I  fancy.  More  than  you  or  I  sus- 
pect. He  is  now  at  Eastbourne,  and  I  am  certain  he 
will  come  over  here  to  see  you  to-morrow." 

"To  see  me!     Why?" 

"  Because  he  wants  you  to  hold  your  tongue  about 
these  matters." 

"Mr.  Tait,"  she  cried,  with  a  sudden  flush,  "surely 
you  are  not  biased  by  Frank's  book  ?  You  imply  that 
Mr.  Hilliston  is  afraid  of  the  truth." 

"  I  think  he  is!     In  fact  I  am  sure  he  is." 

"  Do  you  believe  he  committed  that  cowardly  crime 
of  twenty-five  years  ago  ?  "  asked  Jenny,  with  scorn. 

"What  is  your  own  opinion?"  was  the  counter 
question. 

"I    believe    that    Jeringham    was    the    murderer. 


l8o  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

Yes!  Captain  Larcher  went  in  disguise  to  that  ball, 
and  learned  the  truth  from  the  lips  of  his  own  wife.  I 
believe  she  loved  Jeringham.  I  believe  he  followed 
her  home  on  that  fatal  night,  urging  her  to  fly.  Then 
Captain  Larcher  appeared  on  the  scene,  and  in  the 
struggle  that  ensued  he  was  killed.  Jeringham  fled, 
and  Mrs.  Larcher  died.  That,  I  am  certain,  is  the  true 
history  of  this  crime." 

"You,  then,  think  that  Mrs.  Larcher  was  privy  to 
the  murder  ?  " 

"Oh,  I  don't  say  that!"  said  the  girl,  shrinking 
back;  "it  is  impossible  to  say.  But  I  have  no  right 
to  talk  to  you  about  these  matters,  Mr.  Tait.  I  have 
told  you  all  I  know.     Let  me  pass,  please." 

Tait  bowed,  and  stood  aside  hat  in  hand.  She  flitted 
down  the  aisle,  a  slim  girlish  figure,  and  had  arrived  at 
the  door  when  his  voice  arrested  her. 

"One  moment.  Miss  Paynton,"  he  said,  following 
her  quickly. 

"What  is  it?'" 

"  Don't  tell  your  father  of  this  for  twenty-four 
hours." 

"Why?" 

"  Because  I  want  to  prove  to  you  that  what  I  say  is 
true.  Hilliston  will  inform  your  father  himself,  and 
ask  you  to  be  silent." 

"It  is  too  late  for  that  now — unfortunately." 

"Why  unfortunately?  You  should  be  glad  to  have 
strengthened  the  hands  of  justice.  However,  we  need 
not  speak  of  that  now.  Will  you  promise  to  withhold 
your  confession  for  the  time  I  ask  ?  " 

"I  promise  nothing,  Mr.  Tait.     Good-evening!  " 

"But,  Miss  Paynton,"  he  said,  following  her  again, 


FACT  AND  fiction:  i8i 

"you  surely  will  not  be  so  rash.  You  can  have  no 
idea  how  important  these  matters  are  to  my  friend. 
Mr.  Hilliston  is  certain  to  inform  your  father  within 
the  next  twenty-four  hours,  so  surely  you  can  give  us 
that  time  to    do    what  we    can.     I    beg   of   you " 

Jenny  stopped  irresolutely,  and  looked  at  Tait  with 
a  mixture  of  anger  and  doubt.  The  matter  had  now 
grown  so  intricate  that  she  did  not  know  what  to  do, 
what  to  say.  She  had  not  known  Tait  long  enough  to 
be  guided  by  his  advice,  or  to  rely  on  his  judgment; 
and  her  impulse  was  to  tell  her  father  and  receive  sug- 
gestions as  to  what  was  best  to  be  done  under  the 
circumstances.  Yet,  she  also  mistrusted  Hilliston,  as 
his  connection  with  the  Horriston  case  seemed  to  her 
to  be  by  no  means  as  simple  as  had  appeared  at  first 
sight.  She  was  suspicious  of  him,  and  if  he  came  over 
to  Thurston  especially  to  ask  her  to  be  silent,  that 
would  go  a  long  way  toward  confirming  her  doubts. 
And  then,  after  all,  no  harm  could  be  done  within 
the  twenty-four  hours,  as  afterward  she  could  tell  her 
father;  thus,  at  once  satisfying  her  conscience  and  her 
curiosity,  she  made  the  compromise. 

"Very  well,  Mr.  Tait,"  she  said  gravely.  "I 
promise    to   be    silent    for    twenty-four   hours." 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

A    NEW    SUSPICION. 

Spenser  Tait  walked  back  to  the  Manor  House  with 
the  pleasing  conviction  that  he  had  passed  a  very  prof- 
itable hour.  He  had  warned  Jenny  about  the  probable 
movements  of  Hilliston,  and  thus  had  put  her  on  her 
guard  against  that  astute  individual.  Once  an  idea 
enters  a  woman's  head,  it  is  impossible  to  get  it  out 
again,  and  Tait,  by  half  hinting  a  confirmation  of 
Jenny's  suspicions  regarding  the  lawyer,  had  made  her 
uneasily  conscious  that  Hilliston  was  a  man  to  be 
watched  and  reckoned  with.  If  Hilliston  fulfilled 
Tait's  prophecy,  the  little  man  believed  that  Jenny 
would  resent  his  interference,  penetrate  his  motives, 
and  thwart  him,  if  possible.  In  spite  of  her  denial 
that  she  thought  him  guilty,  Tait  could  not  but  per- 
ceive that  the  reading  of  the  case  had  not  biased  her 
in  favor  of  the  dead  man's  friend.  Jenny  believed  that 
Jeringham  had  committed  the  crime,  but,  if  Hilliston 
acted  indiscreetly,  it  would  not  take  much  to  induce 
her  to  alter  that  opinion.  Tait  chuckled  as  he  thought 
of  these  things;  for  he  had  not  only  cut  the  ground 
from  under  Hilliston's  feet  by  warning  Jenny  of  his 
possible  arrival,  but  had,  as  he  truly  thought,  con- 
verted a  passive  spectator  into  an  active  enemy. 

Again,  he  had  learned  that  it  was  the  old  servant 
who    had   informed    the  girl  concerning  the   scarfpin 


A    NEW  SUSPICION.  183 

episode.  Kerry  said  that  the  man  who  owned  the 
scarfpin  was  guilty;  and  Kerry  knew  to  whom  the 
scarfpin  belonged.  If  he  could  only  be  induced  to 
part  with  the  information  there  might  be  some  chance 
of  solving  the  mystery;  but  Kerry's — or  rather  Denis 
Bantry's — past  conduct  and  present  attitude  were  so 
doubtful  that  it  was  difficult  to  know  how  he  would  act, 
even  though  he  were  driven  into  a  corner.  Tait  had 
little  doubt  in  his  own  mind  that  Kerry  was  the  old 
servant  of  Captain  Larcher,  for  no  one  but  he  knew 
the  truth  about  the  scarfpin.  Nevertheless,  he  failed 
to  understand  why  the  man  had  changed  his  name,  and 
why  he  was  staying  at  Thorston  as  servant  to  a  recluse 
like  Paynton.  Only  a  personal  interview  with  him 
could  settle  these  vexed  questions,  but  Tait  was  of  two 
opinions  whether  Kerry  would  be  amenable  to  reason, 
and  confess  his  reasons  for  such  concealment. 

Thus  thinking,  and  trying  to  come  to  some  conclu- 
sion regarding  the  new  aspect  placed  upon  affairs  by 
the  conversation  with  Jenny,  the  little  man  arrived 
home,  and  learning  that  Claude  was  still  in  the  garden, 
he  went  there  to  report  the  result  of  his  interview,  and 
discuss  the  situation.  Larcher  was  leaning  back  in  a 
comfortable  garden  chair,  with  an  open  book  on  his 
knee,  but,  instead  of  reading,  he  was  staring  with  unsee- 
ing eyes  into  the  fresh  green  of  the  tree  above  him. 
On  hearing  Tait's  brisk  step  he  hastily  lowered  his 
head  with  a  flush,  as  though  he  had  been  caught  doing 
something  wrong,  and  grew  still  more  confused  when 
he  saw  his  friend  looking  at  him  with  a  queer  expres- 
sion of  amusement. 

"She  is  a  pretty  girl,"  said  Tait  significantly;  "and 
I  don't  wonder  you  are  thinking  of  her," 


1 84  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

"Thinking  of  who  ?"  asked  Claude  merrily,  at  this 
reading  of  his  thoughts.      "  Are  you  a  mind  reader  ?  " 

"  So  far  as  you  are  concerned,  I  am.  Knowing  how 
easily  influenced  you  are  by  the  sight  of  a  pretty  face, 
I  don't  think  I  am  far  wrong  in  guessing  that  your 
thoughts  were  with  Jenny  Paynton. " 

"Well,  yes,"  replied  Claude,  with  a  frank  laugh. 
"  I  do  not  deny  it.  The  glimpse  I  caught  of  her  as  we 
drove  past  in  the  cart  charmed  me  greatly.  I  have 
rarely  seen  a  more  sympathetic  and  piquant  face." 

"Bah!  You  say  that  of  every  woman  you  meet. 
Your  geese  are  always  swans." 

"Jenny  is,  at  all  events!  "  said  Larcher  promptly; 
"  and  you  cannot  deny  that;  but  I  admire  her  exceed- 
ingly— that  is,  as  a  pretty  woman.  You  see,  I  already 
call  her  Jenny  in  my  own  mind,  but  that  is  because  you 
always  talk  of  her  by  her  Christian  name.  Now, 
Jenny  is " 

"My  dear  Don  Juan,"  said  Tait  blandly;  "don't 
you  think  we  had  better  leave  off  these  erotics  and  get 
to  business.  You  must  not  indulge  in  the  ideal  to  the 
exclusion  of  the  real." 

"Oh,  not  that  business!"  sighed  Larcher  wearily. 
"  I  don't  believe  we'll  do  any  good  with  it.  The  mys- 
tery of  my  father's  death  is  likely  to  remain  one  to  the 
end  of  time  for  all  I  can  see.  Every  trace  is  obliter- 
ated by  the  snows  of  twenty-five  years." 

"Not  entirely,  my  friend.  For  instance,  I  have 
learned  an  important  fact  to-day." 

"  From  Miss  Paynton  ?  " 

"Yes.  We  had  a  long  conversation,  and  she  was 
considerably  startled  when  she  learned  the  object  of 
your  visit  here." 


A    NEW  SUSPICION.  185 

"  Was  it  wise  of  you  to  tell  her  ?  " 

"  Why,  yes,"  returned  Tait  decidedly.  ''  We  can  do 
nothing  without  her  help,  and  that  she  will  refuse  to 
give  us  unless  she  learns  the  reason  of  our  inquiries." 

"What  is  her  opinion  of  the  matter  ?  The  same  as 
Linton's,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"By  no  means.  She  thinks  that  Jeringham  killed 
your  father;  but  I  am  not  altogether  sure  that  she 
does  not  suspect  Hilliston.  After  all,  she  may  come 
round  to  Linton's  opinion  before  long." 

"Did  you  tell  her  that  we  suspected  Hilliston?" 
asked  Claude  anxiously. 

"  Not  directly.  But  I  permitted  myself  to  hint  as 
much.  However,  I  only  aided  the  seed  of  suspicion 
to  sprout,  for  it  was  already  implanted  in  her  mind. 
You  look  astonished,  Claude,  but  recall  to  your  recol- 
lection the  report  of  that  case,  and  you  will  see  that 
Hilliston  was  far  too  much  mixed  up  in  the  matter  to 
be  as  ignorant  as  he  pretended  to  be  at  the  trial. 
According  to  his  evidence  he  had  not  left  the  ball- 
room, and  consequently  could  have  known  nothing  of 
the  tragedy  which  was  then  being  enacted  at  The 
Laurels.  Yet,  he  knows  details  which,  so  far  as  I  can 
see,  prove  him  to  have  been  an  eye-witness." 

Claude  jumped  to  his  feet,  and  began  restlessly  pac- 
ing up  and  down  the  gravel  walk.  He  yet  retained 
some  belief  in  Hilliston,  and  was  reluctant  to  think 
that  one  to  whom  he  owed  so  much  should  be  guilty 
of  so  foul  a  crime.  It  was  true  that  certain  circum- 
stances looked  black  against  him,  but  these  were 
purely  theoretical,  and  by  no  means  founded  on  abso- 
lute facts.  After  due  consideration  Claude  inclined  to 
the  belief  that  Tait  was  too  easily  satisfied  of  Hillis- 


1 86  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

ton's  guilt,  and  was  willing  to  accept  any  stray  facts 
likely  to  confirm  his  theory.  Thus  biased  he  could 
not  possibly  look  on  the  matter  in  a  fair  and  equable 
manner.  The  wish  was  altogether  too  greatly  father 
to  the  thought. 

"  I  don't  think  you  give  Hilliston  a  fair  show,  Tait," 
he  said,  stepping  before  his  friend.  ''If  he  winks  an 
eye  you  look  on  it  as  a  sign  of  his  guilt.  My  mother 
assured  me  solemnly  that  Hilliston  was  at  the  ball 
when  the  tragedy  occurred." 

"Oh,  in  that  case,  I  have  nothing  more  to  say," 
said  Tait  coldly.  "Still,"  he  added  rather  spitefully. 
"I  should  like  to  know  why  Mr.  Hilliston  is  so  anxious 
to  keep  the  matter  quiet." 

"Tait!"  said  Claude  hoarsely,  sitting  down  by  his 
friend  and  seizing  his  arm;  "do  you  know  I  have  often 
asked  myself  that  question,  and  I  have  found  a  reply 
thereto;  the  only  reply  of  which  I  can  think." 

He  paused,  and  looked  fearfully  around;  then  wiped 
the  sweat  off  his  white  face  with  a  nervous  gesture. 
Tait  eyed  him  in  amazement,  and  could  not  understand 
what  had  come  over  his  usually  self-possessed  friend; 
but  he  had  no  time  to  speak,  for  Claude,  with  an  irre- 
pressible shiver,  whispered  in  a  low  voice: 

"  What  if  my  mother  should  be  guilty,  after  all  ?  Ah, 
you  may  well  look  astonished,  but  that  is  the  hideous 
doubt  which  has  haunted  me  for  days.  My  mother 
says  she  ran  at  my  father  with  a  dagger,  but  fainted 
before  she  struck  him.  What  if  she  did  not  faint;  if 
she  really  killed  him,  and  Hilliston,  knowing  this,  is 
trying  to  screen  her,  and  trying  to  save  me  from  know- 
ing the  truth?" 

"  But,  my  dear  fellow,  the  trial " 


A   NEW  SUSPICION.  187 

"Never  mind  the  trial.  We  now  know  that  Denis 
swore  falsely  when  he  asserted  that  my  father  was  not 
in  the  house  on  that  night.  We  know  that  he  was  in 
the  house,  and  that  my  mother  found  him  with  Mona 
Bantry.  Her  jealousy  might  have  carried  her  to 
greater  lengths  than  she  intended  to  go.  Denis  saved 
her  at  the  trial  by  telling  a  lie;  but  we  know  the  truth, 
and  I  cannot  rid  myself  of  a  doubt,  that  she  may  be 
guilty.  If  so,  in  place  of  being  an  enemy,  Hilliston  is 
acting  the  part  of  a  friend  in  placing  obstacles  in  our 
way." 

Tait  shook  his  head.  "  I  do  not  believe  Mrs.  Bezel 
is  guilty,"  he  said  quietly;  "if  she  had  been,  she 
would  certainly  not  have  written  to  you,  and  thus 
forced  Hilliston  to  show  you  the  papers.  Banish  the 
thought  from  your  heart,  Claude.  I  am  as  certain  as 
I  sit  here  that  your  mother  is  innocent  of  the  crime." 

"  If  I  could  only  be  certain!  " 

"And  why  should  you  not  be,"  exclaimed  Tait 
vigorously.  "An  eye-witness  could  tell  you  the 
truth." 

"Where  can  I  find  an  eye-witness  ?"  cried  Claude, 
with  an  impatient  frown.  "Mona  Bantry  and  Jering- 
ham  have  both  fled;  they  are  probably  dead  by  this 
time.  My  mother  denies  that  she  struck  the  blow, 
and  Hilliston,  she  says,  was  at  the  ball  when  the 
murder  took  place.     Who  can  tell  me  the  truth  ?  " 

"  Denis  Bantry,"  said  Tait  quietly.  "  Listen  to  me, 
Claude.  The  episode  of  the  garnet  scarfpin,  which  to 
my  mind  is  the  clew  to  the  assassin,  is  only  known  to 
your  mother,  to  Hilliston,  and  to  Denis  Bantry.  Now 
Hilliston  denies  that  such  a  trinket  exists;  your 
mother  insists  that   it  was  found   on  th     bank  of  the 


1 88  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

river  after  the  murder.  The  only  person  who  can  give 
the  casting  vote — who  can  arbitrate,  so  to  speak — is 
Denis  Bantry." 

"  And  where  is  Denis  Bantry  ?  Lost  or  dead,  years 
ago." 

''  Nothing  of  the  sort,  my  friend.  Denis  Bantry  is 
ahve  and  in  this  neighborhood.  Yes;  Jenny  Paynton 
admitted  to  me  that  the  scarfpin  episode  was  related 
to  her  by  their  old  servant,  Kerry.  Therefore,  it 
naturally  follows  that  Kerry  is  Denis  Bantry." 

"  But  why  is  he  hiding  here  under  another  name  ?  " 
said  Larcher,  after  he  had  digested  this  piece  of  infor- 
mation, with  a  due  display  of  astonishment. 

"That  I  cannot  say.  Unless,"  here  Tait  hesitated 
before  uttering  his  opinion,  "unless  Denis  Bantry  is 
the  guilty  person." 

"  But  that  is  impossible;  that  is  out  of  the  question," 
said  Claude  decidedly.  "He  was  devoted  to  my 
father,  as  you  know.  Why  should  he  turn  and  kill  him 
without  a  cause  ?" 

"Ah!"  said  Tait  significantly;  "what  if  he  had  a 
cause,  and  a  very  good  one,  to  kill  your  father.  Recall 
your  mother's  confession.  She  returned  at  three 
o'clock  in  the  morning  and  found  her  husband  alone 
with  Mona,  the  sister  of  Denis.  She  accused  Mona  of 
being  her  husband's  mistress,  and  the  girl  confessed 
her  guilt,  which  your  father  evidently  could  not  deny. 
Now  what  is  more  probable  than  that  Denis,  attracted 
by  the  high  voices,  should  have  followed  your  mother 
to  the  room.  There  he  would  hear  the  truth,  probably 
while  waiting  at  the  door.  What  follows  ?  With  his 
impulsive  Irish  temperament  he  dashes  in,  hot  to  avenge 
the  wrong  done  to  his  sister.     The  dagger  dropped  by 


A   NEW  SUSPICION.  189 

your  mother  is  at  his  feet;  he  picks  it  up  and  kills  his 
master  on  the  instant.  Your  mother,  in  a  faint  on  the 
floor,  knows  nothing  of  what  is  going  on,  and  brother 
and  sister  remove  the  body  to  the  river,  where  they 
drop  it  in.  Then  Mona  is  sent  away  by  Denis  to  hide 
her  shame  and  evade  awkward  questions,  while  he 
remains." 

"  But  why  should  he  remain  ?  "  interrupted  Claude 
smartly.  "Would  it  not  have  been  wiser  for  him 
to  fly  ? " 

"And  so  confess  his  guilt.  No!  He  induces  Jer- 
ingham  to  fly,  with  a  threat  of  denouncing  him  as  the 
murderer  of  Larcher.  Jeringham  is  in  such  a  dilemma 
that,  seeing  that  all  the  evidence  will  be  against  him,  he 
takes  to  flight.  Thereupon  Denis  is  able  to  save  his 
mistress,  and  himself,  by  denying  that  Larcher  came  to 
the  house  on  that  night.  Of  course,  this  is  all  pure 
theory;  still  it  is  as  circumstantial  as  the  rest  of  the 
evidence  we  have  in  hand." 

But  Claude  was  by  no  means  inclined  to  agree  with 
this  last  remark.  "There  are  flaws  in  your  argu- 
ment," he  said,  after  a  few  moments'  reflection.  "  If 
Denis  intended  to  deny  that  my  father  was  in  the  house 
on  that  night,  why  should  he  induce  Jeringham  to  fly?" 
"To  make  assurance  doubly  sure.  No  doubt  he 
intended  first  to  put  the  blame  on  Jeringham,  but  find- 
ing that  Mrs.  Larcher  was  likely  to  be  accused,  he  made 
things  safe  for  her  by  denying  that  his  master  returned 
on  that  evening.  Only  four  people  knew  of  the  return ; 
Mona,  who  fled,  Mrs.  Larcher,  who  held  her  tongue  to 
save  her  neck;  Denis,  who  swore  falsely  to  serve  his 
mistress;  and  Jeringham,  who  thought  he  might  be 
accused  of  the  crime." 


I90  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

"But  why  wouldn't  he  have  denounced  Denis  ?  " 

"He  was  doubtless  ignorant  that  Denis  was  the 
criminal.  You  forget  that  Jeringham  was  in  the 
garden,  and  knew  nothing  of  what  was  taking  place 
in  the  sitting  room.  Denis  rushed  out,  and  finding 
Jeringham  may  have  told  him  that  Mrs.  Larcher  had 
killed  her  husband  on  his  account.  The  man,  be- 
wildered and  shocked,  yet  sees  that  he  is  complicated 
in  the  case  through  his  love  for  Mrs.  Larcher;  he 
guesses  that  owing  to  the  gossip  of  the  place  he  may 
be  accused  of  the  crime,  and  so  does  the  wisest  thing 
he  could  do, — the  only  thing  he  could  do, — and  seeks 
refuge  in  flight." 

"  Then  you  think  Denis  is  guilty?  " 

"  I  can't  say.  As  you  see,  I  can  make  a  strong  case 
out  against  your  mother,  against  Jeringham,  against 
Denis.  Yes,  I  could  even  make  a  case  against  Mona 
Bantry;  but  it  is  sole  theory.  Yet  Denis  must  have 
some  reason  for  hiding  here  under  the  name  of 
*  Kerry,'  and  for  keeping  those  papers  found  by  Jenny 
which  contained  a  report  of  the  case.  The  case  is 
strong  against  Hilliston,  I  admit,  but  is  stronger 
against  your  father's  own  servant." 

"I  don't  think  so,"  said  Claude  quietly.  "  If  Denis 
had  killed  my  father,  he  would  not  have  told  Jenny 
about  the  scarfpin. " 

"Why  not!  The  scarfpin  may  have  belonged  to 
Jeringham — to  Hilliston.  For  his  own  safety — now 
that  the  case  is  recognized  after  so  many  years  by  a 
girl's  rash  action — Denis  would  not  hesitate  to  blame 
them  to  save  himself.  Taking  it  all  round,"  added 
Tait,  with  the  air  of  one  who  has  settled  the  question, 
"  I  think  the  conduct  of   Denis  is  very  suspicious,  and 


A   NEW  SUSPICION.  IQI 

I  would  not  be  surprised  if  he  turned  out  to  be  the 
guilty  person." 

"But  the  acts  of  Hilliston  ?  " 

Tait  rubbed  his  head  and  looked  vexed,  for  he  was 
unable  to  give  a  direct  answer.  "Let  us  leave  the 
matter  alone  for  the  present,"  he  said  crossly.  "I 
am  getting  bewildered  with  all  this  talk.  Only  one 
person  can  tell  the  truth,  and  that  is  Kerry,  alias 
Denis  Bantry." 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

THE    RECLUSE. 

Meanwhile  Jenny  was  proceeding  homeward  in 
a  rather  unhappy  state  of  mind.  The  conversation 
had  left  an  unpleasant  impression,  and  she  was  by  no 
means  sure  what  it  would  lead  to.  A  hundred  times 
did  she  wish  that  she  had  not  meddled  with  the 
matter;  but  it  was  now  too  late  for  regrets,  and  she 
recognized  that  she  must  bear  the  burden  of  her 
wrong-doing.  Though,  indeed,  she  could  see  no 
reason  to  characterize  her  action  by  so  harsh  a  name. 

"A  bundle  of  old  papers  in  a  garret,"  she  thought, 
walking  quickly  through  the  lane;  "where  was  the 
harm  in  reading  them  ?  And,  as  they  contained  an 
interesting  story,  I  fail  to  see  where  I  acted  wrongly 
in  telling  it  to  Frank.  The  Larcher  affair  can  have 
nothing  to  do  with  papa,  even  though  Kerry  was  so 
angry.  I'll  speak  to  Kerry,  and  ask  him  if  I  have 
done  wrong." 

According  to  her  promise  she  was  determined  to 
say  nothing  to  her  father  for  at  least  twenty-four 
hours,  for  she  was  curious  to  see  if  Mr.  Hilliston 
would  call  to  speak  of  the  matter.  If  he  ^did  so,  then 
would  be  the  time  to  exculpate  herself;  but,  pending 
such  visit,  she  saw  no  reason  why  she  should  not  con- 
sult with  Kerry.  He  had  expressed  anger  at  her  pos- 
session of  the  papers,  so  he,  if  anyone,  would  be  able 

192 


THE  RECLUSE.  193 

to  explain  if  she  had  been  rash.     On   Kerry's  answer 
would  depend  the  explanation  due  to  her  father. 

Thus  thinking,  she  speedily  arrived  in  a  deep  lane, 
at  the  end  of  which  she  turned  into  a  white  gate  set  in 
a  rugged  stone  wall.  Nut  trees  bent  over  this  wall, 
dropping  their  fruit  into  the  ruts  of  the  road,  and  on 
the  opposite  side  rose  a  steep  green  bank  topped  by 
blackberry  bushes.  This  byway  was  little  frequented, 
and  here  quiet  constantly  reigned,  unbroken  save  by 
the  voices  of  birds.  It  was  a  great  place  for  nightin- 
gales, and  many  a  summer  evening  did  Jenny  stand 
under  the  bending  boughs  listening  to  the  warblings 
of  those  night  singers.  So  bird-haunted  was  the  spot 
that  here,  if  anywhere,  Keats  might  have  composed 
his  famous  ode.  Indeed,  the  road  was  known  as 
Nightingale  Lane,  for  obvious  reasons. 

Passing  through  the  gate,  Jenny  saw  before  her  the 
little  garden,  odorous  with  homely  cottage  flowers — 
sweet-williams,  delicate  pea  blossom,  ruddy  marigolds, 
and  somber  bushes  of  rosemary.  A  hawthorn  hedge 
on  the  right  divided  the  flowers  from  the  kitchen 
garden;  while  to  the  left  grew  gnarled  apple  and  pear 
trees,  now  white  with  bloom.  A  sprawling  peach  tree 
clung  to  the  guarding  wall  of  the  lane,  and  beds  of 
thyme  and  mignonette  perfumed  the  still  air.  In  the 
center  of  this  sweetness  was  built  the  humble  cottage 
of  Ferdinand  Paynton,  a  broad,  low-roofed  building, 
with  whitewashed  walls  and  quaint  windows,  diamond- 
paned  and  snowy  curtained.  Pots  of  flowers  were  set 
within,  and  under  the  eaves  of  the  thatched  roof 
twittered  the  darting  swallows.  One  often  sees  such 
peaceful  homesteads  in  the  heart  of  England,  breath- 
ing quiet  and   tranquillity.     Rose  Cottage,  as  it  was 


194  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

called,  from  the  prevailing  flower  in  the  garden,  was 
worthy  to  be  enshrined  in  a  fairy  tale. 

Here  lived  Ferdinand  Paynton,  with  his  only 
daughter,  and  two  servants,  male  and  female.  The 
one  was  Kerry,  a  crabbed  old  Irishman,  stanch  as 
steel,  and  devoted  to  his  master;  the  other  a  withered 
crone  who  was  never  seen  without  her  bonnet,  yet  who 
bore  the  reputation  of  being  an  excellent  cook,  and  an 
economical  housekeeper.  As  Mr.  Paynton  was  poor, 
and  spent  more  than  he  could  afford  on  books,  Maria 
was  very  necessary  to  him,  as  she  scraped  and  screwed 
with  miserly  care,  yet  withal  gave  him  good  meals,  and 
kept  the  tiny  house  like  a  new  pin.  Kerry  attended 
principally  to  the  garden  and  the  books;  looked  after 
Jenny,  whom  he  was  always  scolding,  and  passed  his 
leisure  time  in  fishing  in  the  Lax. 

Hot  or  cold,  wet  or  fine,  summer  or  winter,  nothing 
varied  in  the  routine  of  Rose  Cottage.  Mr.  Paynton 
rose  at  nine,  took  his  breakfast,  and  read  his  paper  till 
ten,  then  walked  for  an  hour  or  so  in  the  garden  with 
Jenny.  Till  luncheon  he  wrote;  after  luncheon  he 
slept,  and  then  wrote  again  till  dinner  time.  The 
evening  in  summer  was  spent  in  the  garden,  in  winter 
within  doors,  before  a  roaring  fire  in  the  bookroom. 
For  more  than  twenty  years  life  had  gone  on  in  this 
peaceful  fashion,  and  during  that  time  Jenny  could 
not  remember  the  occurrence  of  a  single  episode 
worth  recording.  Rose  Cottage  might  have  been  the 
palace  of  the  Sleeping  Beauty  during  the  hundred 
years'  spell. 

The  inhabitant  of  this  hermitage  was  a  puzzle  to  the 
gossips  of  Thorston,  for,  after  the  industrious  inquiries 
of  twenty  years,  they  were  as  wise  as  ever  touching  his 


THE  RECLUSE.  I95 

antecedents.  Then  he  had  arrived  with  Kerry,  and 
his  daughter,  a  child  of  five,  and,  staying  at  the  Inn  of 
St.  Elfrida,  had  looked  about  for  a  small  place  in  the 
neighborhood.  Rose  Cottage,  then  empty  and  much 
neglected,  appeared  to  be  the  most  secluded  spot  pro- 
curable, so  Mr.  Paynton  set  it  in  order,  patched  the 
roof,  cultivated  the  garden,  and  took  up  his  abode 
therein.  Here  he  had  lived  ever  since,  rarely  leaving 
it,  seeing  few  people,  and  accepting  no  invitations. 
The  man  was  a  recluse,  and  disliked  his  fellow-crea- 
tures, so  when  Thorston  became  aware  of  his  pecuUari- 
ties  he  was  left  alone  to  live  as  he  chose.  It  may  be 
guessed  that  his  peculiar  habits  made  him  unpopular. 

The  vicar  was  friendly  to  the  misanthrope,  for  in 
Paynton  he  found  a  kindred  soul  in  the  matter  of 
books;  and  many  a  pleasant  evening  did  they  spend  Ih. 
discussing  literary  subjects.  The  bookroom  was  the* 
pleasantest  apartment  in  the  house,  cosy  and  warm, 
and  lined  throughout  v/ith  volumes.  In  the  deep  win- 
dow stood  the  desk,  and  here  Ferdinand  Paynton  sat 
and  wrote  all  day,  save  when  he  took  his  usual  stroll 
in  the  garden.  Jenny  had  also  grown  up  in  the  book- 
room,  and,  as  her  education  had  been  conducted  by  her 
father,  she  was  remarkably  intelligent  for  a  country 
maiden,  and  could  talk  excellently  on  literature,  old 
and  new.  For  the  softer  graces  of  womanhood  she 
was  indebted  to  the  care  of  Mrs.  Linton,  who  from  the 
first  had  taken  a  great  interest  in  the  motherless  girl. 

Into  this  room  came  Jenny,  with  her  mind  full  of  the 
recent  conversation  with  Tait.  She  threw  down  her 
music-book  on  the  table  and  went  to  kiss  her  father. 
He  was  seated  in  his  armchair,  instead  of  at  his  desk 
as  usual,  and  looked  rather  sternly  at  her  as  she  bent 


196  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

over  him.  Tall  and  white-haired,  with  a  sad  face  and 
a  slim  figure,  the  old  man  looked  singularly  interest- 
ing, his  appearance  being  enhanced  by  his  peculiar 
garb,  a  dressing  gown  and  a  black  skullcap.  Indeed, 
he  was  more  like  a  mediaeval  magician  than  an  aged 
gentleman  of  the  nineteenth  century.  He  looked  like 
a  man  with  a  history,  which  was  doubtless  the  reason 
Thorston  gossips  were  so  anxious  concerning  his  past. 
In  country  towns  curiosity  is  quite  a  disease. 

In  the  hurry  of  her  entrance  Jenny  had  not  noticed 
that  a  stranger  was  present,  but  on  greeting  her  father 
with  a  fond  kiss,  she  turned  to  see  an  elderly  gentle- 
man looking  at  her  intently.  Mr.  Paynton  explained 
the  presence  of  the  stranger  with  less  than  his  usual 
suavity,  but  from  the  tone  of  his  voice  Jenny  guessed 
that  he  was  angry  with  her.  As  it  afterward  appeared 
he  had  good  reason  to  be. 

"Jenny,  this  is  my  friend,  Mr.  Hilliston." 

Hilliston!  Jenny  could  not  suppress  a  start  of  sur- 
prise, even  of  alarm.  The  prophecy  of  Tait  had  been 
fulfilled  sooner  than  she  had  expected.  There  was 
something  uncanny  in  the  speedy  accomplishment  of  a 
prognostication  in  which,  at  the  time,  she  had  hardly 
believed. 

'*  Hilliston!  Mr.  Hilliston!  "  she  repeated,  with  a 
gasp  of  surprise,  "already!  " 

This  time  it  was  Hilliston's  turn  to  be  surprised, 
and  his  face  darkened  with  suspicion. 

"What  am  I  to  understand  by  'already,'  Miss 
Paynton  ?  "  he  said  quickly. 

"Why!     That    is — Mr.    Tait "  began  Jenny,   in 

excuse,  when  her  father  cut  her  short.      He  rose  from 
his  chair,  and  exclaimed  in  a  voice  of  alarm: 


THE  RECLUSE.  I97 

"  Tait!     Then  you  have  seen  him  already  ?  " 

"Yes,  father,"  said  the  girl,  in  some  bewilderment 
at  his  tone. 

''Where?" 

"  In  the  church,  half  an  hour  ago." 

"  Did  he  question  you  ?" 

"He  did." 

"  And  you  replied  ?" 

"  I  answered  his  questions,"  said  Jenny  quietly,  "  if 
you  refer  to  the  Larcher  affair." 

"I  do  refer  to  it,"  groaned  her  father,  sinking  back 
into  his  chair.  "  Unhappy  girl!  you  know  not  what 
trouble  you  have  caused." 

Hilliston  said  nothing,  but  stood  moodily  consider- 
ing what  was  best  to  be  done.  He  saw  that  Tait  had 
been  too  clever  for  him,  and  had  anticipated  his 
arrival.  Yet  he  had  come  as  speedily  as  possible;  not 
a  moment  had  he  lost  since  his  arrival  in  Eastbourne 
to  seek  out  Jenny  and  ask  her  to  be  silent.  But  it  was 
too  late;  he  had  missed  his  opportunity  by  a  few  min- 
utes, and  it  only  remained  for  him  to  learn  how  much 
the  girl  had  told  his  enemy.  No  wonder  he  hated 
Tait;  the  fellow  was  too  dangerous  a  foeman  to  be 
despised. 

"We  may  yet  mend  matters,"  he  said  judiciously, 
"  if  Miss  Jenny  will  repeat  so  much  of  the  conversa- 
tion as  she  remembers." 

"Why  should  I  repeat  it  ?"  said  Jenny,  objecting  to 
this  interference,  as  Tait  guessed  she  would.  "  There 
was  nothing  wrong  in  the  conversation  with  Mr.  Tait 
that  I  know  of." 

"  There  was  nothing  wrong  in  your  telling  Linton 
the    story    you    found    in    The    Catiterbiiry    Observer,'' 


198  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

replied  Hilliston  dryly;   ''yet  it  would  have  been  as 
well   had   you   not  done  so." 

"  Father,"  cried  Jenny,  turning  toward  the  old  man 
with  an  appealing  gesture,  "have  I  done  wrong?" 

"Yes,  child,"  he  answered,  with  a  sigh,  "very 
wrong,  but  you  sinned  in  ignorance.  Kerry  told  me 
you  had  found  the  bundle  and  read  about  the  trial,  but 
I  passed  that  over.  Now  it  is  different.  You  repeated 
it  to  young  Linton,  and  Mr.  Hilliston  tells  me  that  all 
London  knows  the  story  through  his  book." 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  said  Jenny,  after  a  pause,  "but 
I  really  did  not  know  that  it  was  wrong  of  me  to  act 
as  I  have  done.  A  bundle  of  old  newspapers  in  a 
garret!  Surely  I  was  justified  in  reading  them — in 
telling  Frank  what  I  conceived  would  be  a  good  plot 
for  a  story." 

"  I  don't  blame  you,  Miss  Paynton,"  said  Hilliston 
kindly;  "but  it  so  happens  that  your  father  did  not 
want  that  affair  again  brought  before  the  public.  After 
all,  you  have  had  less  to  do  with  it  than  Fate." 

"Than  Fate,"  interrupted  Paynton,  with  a  groan. 
"  Good  Heavens,  am  I  to  be " 

"Paynton!  "  said  Hilliston,  in  a  warning  voice. 

"I  forgot,"  muttered  the  old  man,  with  a  shiver. 
"  No  more — no  more.  Jenny,  tell  us  what  you  said  to 
Mr.  Tait." 

Considerably  astonished,  the  girl  repeated  the  con- 
versation as  closely  as  she  could  remember.  Both 
Hilliston  and  her  father  listened  with  the  keenest 
interest,  and  seemed  relieved  when  she  finished. 

"It  is  not  so  bad  as  I  expected,"  said  the  former, 
with  a  nod.  "  All  you  have  to  do,  Paynton,  is  to 
warn  Kerry  against  gratifying  the  curiosity  of  these 


THE  RECLUSE.  199 

young  men.     They  will  be  certain   to  ask  him  ques- 
tions." 

"Kerry  will  baffle  them;  have  no  fear  of  that,"  said 
Paynton  harshly,  "and,  Jenny,  you  are  not  to  refer 
to  this  subject  again  with  Mr.  Tait. " 

"  Am  I  not  to  speak  to  him  ?  " 

Her  father  interrogated  Hilliston  with  a  look, 
received    a   nod,  and   answered   accordingly. 

"You  can  speak  to  Mr.  Tait,  if  you  choose,  and  no 
doubt  you  will  be  introduced  by  the  vicar  to  Mr. 
Larcher.  I  place  no  prohibition  on  your  speaking  to 
them,  but  only  warn  you  to  avoid  the  subject  of  the 
Larcher  affair.     Promise  !  " 

"I  promise.  I  am  sorry  I  ever  had  anything  to  do 
with  it." 

"Say  no  more  about  it,  my  dear,"  said  Hilliston, 
patting  her  shoulder.  "  How  could  you  be  expected 
to  know  ?  But  now  you  have  been  warned,  do  not 
speak  more  of  it.  We  do  not  wish  the  unjustifiable 
curiosity  of  these  idle  young  men  to  be  gratified." 

"If  you  assist  them  to  learn  that  which  had  better 
be  hidden,  you  will  ruin  me,"  cried  Paynton,  with  a 
passionate  gesture. 

"Father!     Ruin  you?" 

"Yes!  It  means  ruin,  disgrace — perhaps  death! 
Ah!" 

He  broke  down  with  a  cry,  and  Hilliston,  taking 
Jenny  by  the  hand,  led  her  to  the  door. 

"  Go  away,  my  dear.  Your  father  is  ill,"  he  said,  in 
a  whisper,  and  pushing  her  outside  the  door,  locked  it 
forthwith.  Jenny  stood  in  the  passage,  in  an  agony 
of  fear  and  surprise.  Ruin!  Disgrace!  Death! 
What  was  the  meaning  of  those  terrible  words  ? 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

AN    OLD    SERVANT. 

Leaving  the  two  men  to  talk  over  their  dark  secrets 
together,  Jenny  went  into  the  garden.  Her  brow 
burned  as  with  fever,  and  her  understanding  was  con- 
fused by  the  thoughts  which  filled  her  mind.  What 
was  the  meaning  of  her  father's  words  ?  Why  had  Mr. 
Hilliston  come  over  from  Eastbourne  to  request  her 
silence  ?  And  what  was  the  connection  between  him 
and  her  sole  surviving  parent  ?  She  paced  up  and 
down  the  gravel  walk  vainly  asking  herself  these  ques- 
tions, and  racking  her  brain  as  to  possible  answers. 
Hitherto  the  sky  of  her  young  life  had  been  pure  and 
serene;  but  now,  by  her  own  act — as  though  she  had 
unconsciously  wrought  a  malignant  spell — a  sudden 
storm  had  arisen,  which  threatened  to  overturn  the 
foundations  of  her  small  world.  In  the  very  unex- 
pectedness of  these  events  lay  their  terror. 

As  Tait  shrewdly  surmised,  Jenny  was  by  no  means 
satisfied  with  the  evidence  of  Hilliston  at  the  trial  of 
Mrs.  Larcher.  So  far  as  she  could  judge  from  the 
unsatisfactory  report  in  The  Canterbury  Observer,  he 
had  given  his  version  of  the  affair  glibly  enough; 
yet  there  seemed  to  be  something  behind  which 
he  was  anxious  to  suppress.  Definitely  enough  he 
stated  that  he  had  not  been  at  The  Laurels  on 
the  fatal  night;  that  he  had  not  seen  Captain  Larcher 


AN  OLD   SERVANT.  201 

since  he  left  for  London;  that  he  had  not  noted 
whether  Mrs.  Larcher  wore  that  all-important  dagger 
when  she  left  the  ballroom.  But,  pressed  by  an  evi- 
dently suspicious  counsel,  he  accounted  so  minutely 
for  every  moment  of  his  time,  his  evidence  had  about 
it  such  an  air  of  frank  falseness,  that  even  unsophisti- 
cated Jenny  saw  that  the  man  was  acting  a  part.  She 
did  not  believe  him  guilty  of  the  crime,  but  she  was 
certain  in  her  own  mind  that  he  knew  who  had  struck 
the  fatal  blow;  nay  more,  Jenny  thought  it  not  impos- 
sible that  he  had  been  at  The  Laurels  after  three 
that  morning,  in  spite  of  his  denial,  and  had  seen  the 
tragedy  take  place.  Tait's  hints,  confirming  her  own 
doubts,  led  her  to  gravely  doubt  the  purity  of  Mr. 
Hilliston's  motives  then  and  now. 

But  what  most  perplexed  the  girl  was  the  reason 
why  the  lawyer  called  to  see  her  father  on  the  sub- 
ject and  requested  her  silence.  She  knew  nothing 
of  the  tragedy  save  through  the  papers — those  old, 
faded  papers,  dated  1866,  which  she  had  found  in  the 
garret.  She  was  not  born  when  the  murder  took 
place,  so  Hilliston  could  not  possibly  wish  to  close 
her  mouth  for  her  own  sake.  It  was  on  her  father's 
account  that  Jenny  feared.  What  could  he  know  of 
an  obscure  crime  perpetrated  in  a  country  town  so 
many  years  ago;  she  could  recall  no  mention  of  his 
name  in  the  report  of  the  trial;  yet  his  words  led  her 
to  suspect  that  he  was  more  closely  connected  with 
that  tragic  past  than  he  chose  to  admit.  Could  it  be 
that  her  father  was  a  relative  of  Jeringham,  and,  know- 
ing that  Jeringham  was  still  alive,  wished  to  stop  all 
inquiries  made  as  to  his  whereabouts,  lest  he  should 
be    punished    for    his  early  sin  ?     This    was  the  only 


202  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

feasible  suggestion  she  could  make,  and  yet  it  failed 
to  satisfy  her  too  exacting  mind. 

Again,  there  was  Kerry.  Kerry  certainly  had  a  per- 
sonal interest  in  the  case;  else  he  could  scarcely  have 
related  the  episode  of  the  scarfpin.  Moreover,  he  had 
been  very  angry  when  he  found  her  with  the  papers  in 
her  possession;  and  putting  these  two  things  together 
it  would  seem  as  if  he  knew  more  than  he  chose  to  tell. 
Jenny  thought,  for  the  gratification  of  her  own  curi- 
osity, she  would  ask  Kerry  to  explain  these  matters; 
and  so  went  to  the  kitchen  in  search  of  him.  Maria 
was  there,  cross  and  deaf  as  usual,  and  intimated  that 
Kerry  had  been  out  some  two  hours  on  a  message. 
This  sounded  extraordinary  to  Jenny,  who  knew  that 
the  old  servant  rarely  left  the  house;  but  it  argued  that 
her  father  was  anxious  to  have  him  out  of  the  way  dur- 
ing the  visit  of  Hilliston.  What  did  it  all  mean  ?  A 
horrible  fear  seized  the  girl,  lest  she  should  have  set 
some  machinery  in  motion  which  would  end  in  crush- 
ing her  unhappy  father.  Unhappy  he  had  always  been, 
and  given  to  seclusion.  There  must  be  some  reason 
for  this,  and  Jenny  felt  a  vague  alarm,  which  she  could 
neither  express  nor  display.  Dearly  enough  had  she 
paid  for  meddling  with  that  old  bundle  of  papers. 

Again  she  returned  to  the  garden,  and  went  outside 
into  the  lane  in  order  to  see  if  Kerry  was  in  sight.  In 
a  few  minutes  he  came  shuffling  round  the  corner,  and 
his  withered  face  relaxed  into  a  grin  when  he  saw  her 
standing  by  the  gate.  She  was  the  apple  of  his  eye, 
and  though  he  scolded  her  often  himself,  yet  he  never 
let  anyone  say  a  word  against  her.  To  look  askance 
at  Jenny  was  to  lose  Kerry's  favor  and  win  his  enmity 
forever. 


AN  OLD   SERVANT.  203 

"Ah!  there  ye  are,  me  darling  Miss  Jenny, "he  said, 
with  the  familiarity  of  an  old  servant,  "  watching  and 
waiting  for  poor  old  Kerry.  Sure  it  is  a  sunbeam  you 
are  in  this  dark  lane." 

''Kerry!  I  want  to  speak  to  you." 

The  change  in  her  tone  struck  him  at  once,  and  he 
peered  sharply  into  her  fresh  face  with  his  bleared 
eyes.  A  look  of  wonder  stole  into  them  at  the  sight 
of  her  white  cheeks,  and  he  crossed  himself  before  re- 
plying so  as  to  avert  any  evil  that  might  befall.  Kerry 
always  lived  in  a  state  of  suspense,  waiting  for  a  bolt 
from  the  blue.  Jenny's  scared  face  almost  assured  him 
that  it  had  fallen. 

"What  is  it,  ala?i/mh?"  he  asked,  pausing  at  the 
gate.      "  Is  anything  wrong  ? " 

"Oh,  no!  nothing  is  wrong,  Kerry!  What  could 
be  wrong  ?  "  said  Jenny  nervously;  "only  papa  has  a 
visitor." 

"  Augh!     His  riverence  ?  " 

"No;  not  the  vicar.  A  stranger — or  at  least 
almost  a  stranger,"  she  said,  half  to  herself.  "It  is 
many  years  since  Mr.  Hilliston  came  here." 

"Mr.  Hilliston!  "  cried  Kerry,  with  an  ashen  face. 
"  The  black  curse  on  him  and  his!  What  is  he  doing 
with  the  master  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  Kerry,"  replied  Jenny,  rather  aston- 
ished at  the  old  man's  vehemence;  "  he  has  been  with 
father  over  two  hours." 

"And  I  was  sent  away,"  muttered  Kerry,  under  his 
breath.  "  Sorrow  befall  you,  black  attorney  that  you 
are.  Never  did  you  cross  a  threshold  without  bringing 
grief  to  all  hearts.  It  was  an  evil  day  we  saw  you,  and 
an  evil  day  when  we  see  you  again." 


204  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

He  uplifted  his  hands  as  though  about  to  invoke  a 
curse  on  Hilliston,  then,  unexpectedly  letting  them  fall, 
he  turned  sharply  on  Jenny. 

"  How  did  he  come,  miss  ?  " 

''By  train  from  Eastbourne — no  doubt  he  walked 
from  the  station." 

"I'll  drive  him  back,"  exclaimed  Kerry,  in  quite 
an  amiable  voice.  "  Sure  he'll  be  weary  on  his  legs. 
Why  not  ?  I'll  borrow  his  riverence's  trap  and  the 
little  mare  with  the  white  foreleg,  but " 

"  Kerry,  father  might  not  like  it." 

"  Get  along  with  ye,"  said  Kerry  cheerfully;  "  sure 
his  riverence  has  offered  the  trap  a  hundred  times. 
I'll  take  it  on  myself  to  explain  to  the  master.  Keep 
Mr.  Hilliston  here  till  he  sees  me  arriving  up  this 
road — a  dirty  one  it  is,  too,  bad  cess  to  it!  " 

He  was  hurrying  off,  when  Jenny  stopped  him.  She 
saw  that  his  borrowing  of  the  vicar's  honey  trap  was  a 
mere  excuse  to  get  Hilliston  to  himself  for  half  an  hour, 
and,  rendered  more  curious  than  ever  by  Kerry's  artful 
way  of  arranging  matters,  she  ran  after  him  and  pulled 
his  sleeve. 

"Kerry!  Kerry!  Has  Mr.  Hilliston  come  over  to 
see   papa  about  the   Larcher  affair?" 

"How  should  I  know,"  retorted  Kerry,  relapsing 
into  his  crusty  humor;  "  for  shame,  Miss  Jenny!  Is 
it  your  business  or  mine  ? " 

"  It  is  mine,"  said  the  girl,  with  a  resolute  look  on 
her  face.  "  Mr.  Hilliston  came  over  to  ask  me  to  be 
silent  about  what  was  contained  in  those  papers  you 
took  from  me." 

"  How  does  he  know  of  that,  miss  ?  " 


AN  OLD   SERVANT.  205 

**  Because  all  London  now  knows  the  story  of  the 
Larcher  affair." 

"  Augh!  Get  away  with  ye.  Sure  it's  a  fool  you're 
making  of  old  Kerry,"  said  the  servant,  in  an  incredu- 
lous and  angry  tone. 

"Indeed,  I  am  doing  no  such  thing.  I  did  not 
know  there  was  any  harm  in  reading  those  papers,  and 
I  did  so.  But  I  did  more  than  that,  Kerry.  I  told 
the  story  of  the  tragedy  to  Frank  Linton;  and  he  has 
written  a  book  on  the  trial." 

"A  book!     With  the  real  names?" 

"No!  The  names  are  fictitious,  and  the  scene  is 
laid  in  a  different  place.  But  the  whole  story  is  told 
in  the  novel." 

"  Does  the  master  know?"  asked  Kerry,  muttering 
something  between  his  teeth. 

"He  does  now.  Mr.  Hilliston  saw  the  book  in 
London,  and  came  over  to  tell  him,  and  to  ask  me  to 
say  no  more  about  it." 

"What's  that  for,  anyhow,"  demanded  Kerry,  who 
seemed  to  scent  new  danger. 

"Because  Mr.  Larcher  is  here!  " 

Kerry  flung  up  his  hands  with  a  cry  of  astonishment. 
"Mr.  Larcher,  miss!     Who  are  you  telling  about?" 

"Oh,  Mr.  Claude  Larcher,"  said  Jenny,  rather 
alarmed,  for  he  had  gripped  her  arm,  "the  son  of  the 
deceased  man.  He  is  staying  at  the  Manor  House 
with  Mr.  Tait." 

For  a  few  minutes  Kerry  stood  looking  at  the 
ground  in  silence.  Up  to  the  present  he  had  suc- 
ceeded in  preserving  his  calm,  but  the  last  piece  of 
news  upset  him  altogether,  and  he  burst  into  violent 
speech. 


2o6  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

"Augh!  it's  sorrow  that  is  coming  to  this  house, 
and  the  black  curse  will  be  on  the  threshold.  Cold 
will  the  hearth  be  soon,  and  the  old  master  will  be 
driven  out.  Ohone!  and  we  and  time  will  have  sent 
him  into  the  cold  world.     Whirra!  whirra!  " 

Jenny  was  so  dumfounded  by  the  unexpected  elo- 
quence of  the  old  man  that  she  could  do  nothing  but 
stare  at  him.  He  caught  her  eye,  and  seeing  that  he 
had  been  indiscreet  in  so  betraying  himself,  he  cut 
short  his  lamentations,  wiped  his  eyes,  and  relapsed 
once  more  into  the  crusty,  faithful  Kerry  whom  she 
knew.  But  he  gave  her  a  word  of  warning  before  he 
took  his  departure.  "Say  nothing  of  this.  Miss 
Jenny,"  he  remarked;  "sure  it's  an  old  fool  I  am. 
Keep  a  silent  tongue  as  the  master  and  lawyer  wishes 
you  to  do,  and  then,  please  the  saints,  things  will  go 
the  better." 

"But,  Kerry,  before  you  go,  tell  me.  What  is  Mr. 
Hilliston  to  my  father  ?  " 

"  He  is  your  father's  best  friend,  miss,"  said  Kerry, 
with  emphasis;  "  his  best  and  his  worst,"  and  with  that 
enigmatic  reply  he  hurried  off  down  the  lane  in  the 
direction  of  the  vicarage,  leaving  Jenny  in  a  state  of 
bewilderment. 

She  could  understand  nothing,  and  at  that  moment 
sorely  needed  some  friend  with  whom  she  could  con- 
sult. Kerry  gave  her  no  satisfaction,  and  spoke  so 
indefinitely  that  his  conversation  mystified  in  place  of 
enlightening  her;  it  was  no  use  to  make  a  confidant 
of  Frank  Linton,  as  notwithstanding  his  London  repu- 
tation, which  she  had  greatly  contributed  to,  Jenny  did 
not  consider  him  sufficiently  steady  to  be  told  of  the 
commotion  raised  by  his  novel  in  her  immediate  circle. 


AN  OLD   SERVANT.  207 

She  could,  therefore,  discuss  the  matter  with  no  one, 
and  so  annoyed  was  she  by  the  whole  affair  that  she  by 
no  means  could  bring  herself  to  go  back  to  the  house 
while  Hilliston  was  yet  there.  He  would  be  gone,  she 
trusted,  in  another  half  hour  or  so,  and  pending  his 
departure  she  strolled  along  the  lane  in  the  hope  of 
evading  him. 

But  she  only  escaped  Scylla  to  fall  into  Charybdis, 
for,  as  she  turned  the  corner,  Tait  and  Claude  met  her 
almost  face  to  face.  Jenny  would  have  given  much  to 
escape  this  awkward  meeting,  and  intimated  her  wish 
for  solitude  by  passing  the  young  men  with  a  curt  bow. 
The  sight  of  Claude,  the  memory  of  his  father's  death, 
coupled  with  the  suspicions  she  entertained,  wrought 
her  up  to  a  pitch  of  excitement  which  she  had  great 
difficulty  in  concealing.  She  was,  therefore,  greatly 
annoyed  when  Tait  took  off  his  hat,  and  placed  him- 
self directly  in  her  path.  The  little  man  thought  it 
was  too  favorable  an  opportunity  for  introduction  to 
be  overlooked. 

''Don't  go  away.  Miss  Paynton,"  he  said,  smiling. 
"  I  wish  to  introduce  you  to  my  friend  Mr.  Larcher. 
Claude,  this  is  Miss  Paynton,  of  whom  you  have  heard 
me  speak." 

"How  do  you  do,  Miss  Paynton?"  said  Claude, 
with  a  suave  bow.  "  I  hope  you  will  pardon  the 
irregularity  of  this  introduction." 

This  remark  made  Jenny  laugh,  and  set  her  more  at 
ease.  She  was  not  particular  as  to  forms  and  cere- 
monies herself,  and  the  idea  that  a  young  man  should 
apologize  for  such  a  trifle  struck  her  as  ridiculous. 
Moreover,  a  glance  assured  her  that  Mr.  Larcher  was 
by  no  means  a  formidable  person.     He  was  decidedly 


2o8  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

good-looking,  and  had  pleasant  blue  eyes,  with  a  kindly 
look,  so  speech  and  glance  broke  the  ice  at  once  be- 
tween them. 

"  Do  you  stay  here  long,  Mr.  Larcher  ?  "  she  asked, 
pointedly  ignoring  her  previous  conversation  with 
Tait. 

*'As  long  as  I  may,"  he  replied,  smiling.  "  London 
does  not  invite  me  at  this  time  of  the  year.  I  prefer 
the  fragrant  country  to  the  dusty  town." 

"  He  is  a  true  lover  of  the  fields,  Miss  Paynton," 
broke  in  Tait,  admiring  her  self-possession,  "and 
insisted  that  I  should  come  out  for  a  walk,  so  that  he 
might  lose  no  time  in  steeping  himself  in  the  sweetness 
of  nature.     Quite  idylic,  isn't  it  ?  " 

"Quite  !"  said  Jenny  lightly.  "  Good-by  at  pres- 
ent, Mr.  Larcher!  I  am  going  to  the  vicarage,  and 
have  not  a  moment  to  spare.  Mr.  Tait,  can  I  speak 
with  you  a  minute  ?  " 

Tait  obeyed  with  alacrity,  and  Claude  was  left  to 
muse  on  the  fresh  charm  of  Jenny,  and  the  sweetness 
of  her  voice.  Her  trim  figure,  her  exquisite  neatness, 
and  springing  gait  made  him  admire  her  greatly,  and 
when  she  tripped  away  with  a  smiling  nod,  he  was  so 
taken  up  in  watching  her  that  he  failed  to  observe  the 
grave  face  with  which  Tait  joined  him. 

"As  I  thought,"  said  the  latter,  when  they  resumed 
their  walk. 

"  What  is  up  now  ?  " 

"Oh,  nothing  more  than  usual!  Hilliston  has 
called    on    Paynton    already.     He    is    there    now." 

"You  don't  say  so!  I  did  not  think  he  would  have 
been  so  smart.      However,  you  have  stolen  a  march  on 


AN  OLD   SERVANT.  209 

him.     Do  you  intend  to   see   him   now  ?     To  wait  his 
coming  out  ?" 

"  Why,  no,"  said  Tait,  after  a  moment's  deliberation. 
"Rather  let  us  go  home  again  that  Hilliston  may  not 
see  us.  I  wish  to  wait  and  see  what  excuse  he  will 
make  for  not  calling  on  you.  You'll  get  a  letter  full 
of  lies  to-morrow,  Claude." 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

A    GLIMPSE    OF    THE    PAST. 

• 

HiLLiSTON  remained  a  considerable  time  with  his 
friend,  and  it  was  not  until  sunset  that  he  left  the 
house.  He  had  a  satisfied  look  on  his  face,  as  though 
the  interview  had  answered  his  expectations;  and  so 
lifted  up  in  spirit  did  he  appear  that  he  stepped  out 
into  the  lane  as  jauntily  as  though  he  were  quite  a 
young  man.  It  was  over  three  miles  to  the  railway 
station,  and  he  would  be  obliged  to  walk  back;  but  the 
prospect  did  not  annoy  him  in  the  least;  on  the  con- 
trary so  great  a  load  had  been  removed  from  his  mind 
by  the  late  conversation  that  he  felt  fit  to  walk  twice 
the  distance.  Yet  such  unusual  light-heartedness 
might  have  recalled  to  his  mind  the  Scotch  supersti- 
tion regarding  its  probable  reason. 

As  he  walked  smartly  to  the  end  of  the  lane,  the  sun 
had  just  dropped  behind  the  hills,  leaving  a  trail  of  red 
glory  behind  him.  Against  the  crimson  background 
rose  the  gables  and  chimney  of  the  Manor  House,  and 
the  sight  recalled  to  Hilliston  the  fact  that  young 
Larcher  was  staying  in  the  mansion.  He  paused 
doubtfully,  not  certain  whether  to  go  in  or  pass  on; 
for  in  his  many  schemes  the  least  slip  might  prove 
prejudicial  to  their  accomplishment." 

"  If  I  call  in  I  can  say  my  visit  here  was  to  do  so," 


A    GLIMPSE   OF    THE  PAST.  2il 

bethought;  "but  it  is  too  late;  and  though  Claude 
might  believe  me,  the  little  man  would  certainly  be 
suspicious.  Besides  they  are  sure  to  find  out  from 
Jenny  Paynton  that  I  have  seen  her  father.  No!  I 
shan't  go  in,  but  to-night  I  will  write  a  letter  stating 
that  Paynton  is  a  client  whom  I  called  to  see  about 
business.  I  have  made  it  all  right  there,  and  it  will 
take  a  cleverer  man  than  Tait  to  upset  my  plans  this 
time." 

His  meditations  were  interrupted  by  the  rattle  of 
wheels,  and  he  turned  to  see  Kerry  driving  a  dappled 
pony  in  a  small  chaise.  The  old  man  distorted  his 
withered  face  into  a  grotesque  grin  of  welcome,  and 
jumped  out  with  extraordinary  alacrity,  when  he  came 
alongside  Hilliston. 

"Augh!  augh,  sir!"  said  Kerry,  touching  his  hat  in 
military  fashion.  ''  It's  a  sight  for  sore  eyes  to  see  ye. 
Miss  Jenny  told  me  you  had  walked  over  from  the 
station,  so  I  just  borrowed  the  trap  of  his  riverence, 
the  vicar,  to  take  you  back." 

"That  is  very  kind  of  you,  Kerry,"  replied  Hillis- 
ton, in  his  most  genial  manner;  "I  am  glad  to  accept 
your  offer  and  escape  the  walk.  You  drive  and  I'll  sit 
beside  you." 

Kerry  did  as  he  was  told,  and  in  a  few  minutes  the 
trap  containing  the  pair  was  rattling  through  the  street 
at  a  good  pace.  Shortly  they  left  the  village  behind 
and  emerged  into  the  open  country.  The  road  wound 
to  right  and  left,  past  farmhouses,  under  bending 
trees,  behind  hedgerows,  and  occasionally  passed  over 
a  stone  bridge  spanning  a  trickling  brook  matted  with 
cresses.  All  this  time  neither  of  them  had  spoken,  as 
each  was  seemingly  wrapped  up   in  his  own  thoughts  , 


212  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

but  as  a  matter  of  fact  they  were  thinking  of  each 
other.  Kerry  wished  to  speak  to  Hilliston,  but  did 
not  know  how  to  begin  ;  while  HilHston  was  in  the 
same  predicament  regarding  Kerry. 

It  was  the  latter  who  finally  began  the  conversation, 
and  he  did  so  in  a  way  which  would  have  startled  a 
less  brave  man  than  the  lawyer.  At  the  moment  they 
were  crossing  a  rather  broad  stream  with  a  swift 
current,  and  Kerry  pulled  up  the  pony  midway  be- 
tween the  parapets  of  stone  which  protected  the  sides 
of  the  rude  bridge.  Rather  astonished  at  this  stop- 
page, for  which  he  could  assign  no  reason,  Hilliston 
roused  himself  from  his  musings  and  looked  inquiringly 
at  Kerry.  The  man's  eyes,  significant  and  angry, 
were  fixed  on  him  in  anything  but  a  friendly  manner. 

"Do  you   know  what  I'm  thinking,    sir?"  he  said 
coolly  flicking  the  pony's  back  with  the  whip. 

"No,  Kerry,"  replied  Hilliston,  with  equal  coolness. 
"  Is  it  of  anything  important  ?  " 

"It  might  be  to  you,  sir,"  replied  Kerry  dryly.  "I 
was  just  thinking  whether  it  wouldn't  be  a  good  thing 
to  send  horse  and  trap  and  you  and  I  into  the  water. 
Then  there  would  be  an  end  to  your  black  heart  and 
your  black  schemes." 

"  That  is  very  possible,  Kerry,"  said  Hilliston,  who 
knew  his  man,  "but  before  going  to  extremities  you 
had  better  make  certain  that  you  are  acting  for  the 
best.     Without  me  your  master  is  ruined." 

"We'll  talk  it  over,  sir,"  answered  Kerry,  and  with 
a  smart  flick  of  his  whip  sent  the  pony  across  the 
bridge.  When  they  were  over  and  were  trotting  be- 
tween hedgerows  he  resumed  the  conversation. 
"Why   have    ye    come    here    again,     sir?"    he   asked 


A    GLIMPSE   OF   THE  PAST.  213 

abruptly.  *' We  were  quit  of  you  five  years  ago,  and 
now  you  come  to  harry  the  master  once  more." 

"  I  come  for  his  own  good,  Kerry." 

"  Ah,  now  don't  be  after  calling  me  Kerry.  There's 
no  one  here,  and  it  is  Denis  Bantry  I  am  to  you,  Mr. 
Francis  Hilliston." 

The  lawyer  winced  at  the  satirical  emphasis  placed  on 
the  name,  but  judged  it  wise  to  humor  the  old  man. 
Kerry,  as  he  called  himself  now,  could  be  very  obsti- 
nate and  disagreeable  when  he  chose,  so  knowing  his 
powers  in  this  respect  Hilliston  wisely  conducted 
the  conversation  on  as  broad  lines  as  was  possible. 
Nevertheless,  he  carried  the  war  into  the  enemy's 
camp  by  blaming  Kerry  for  not  taking  better  care  of 
the  bundle  of  papers  which,  through  his  negligence, 
had  fallen  into  the  hands  of  Jenny. 

"And  how  was  I  to  know,  sir?"  retorted  Kerry 
querulously.  "The  papers  were  safely  put  away  in  the 
garret,  and  Miss  Jenny  had  no  call  to  go  there." 

"Well,  Kerry,  you  see  what  it  has  led  to.  The 
account  of  the  tragedy  is  all  over  London." 

"  And  what  of  that,  sir  ?  Wasn't  the  account  of  it  all 
over  Horriston  twenty-five  years  ago  ? " 

"  No  doubt,"  said  Hilliston  coolly;  "  but  that  is  all 
over  and  done  with.  It  is  useless  to  dwell  on  the  past 
and  its  errors.  But  now  Captain  Larcher's  son  is  bent 
on  finding  out  the  truth." 

"  And  why  shouldn't  he,  sir  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  you  need  ask  the  question,  Kerry," 
replied  the  lawyer,  in  so  significant  a  tone  that  the  old 
servant  turned  away  his  head.  "It  is  not  desirable 
that  Claude  Larcher  should  be  enlightened.  We  know 
what  took  place  on  that  night  if  no  one  else  does,  and 


214  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

for  more  reasons  than  one  it  is  advisable  that  we  should 
keep  our  knowledge  to  ourselves." 

"Augh,"  said  Kerry  gruffly,  "you  don't  want  it 
known  that  you  were  in  the  garden  on  that  night, 
sir?" 

"I  do  not,"  answered  Hilliston,  with  hasty  emphasis. 
"I  spoke  falsely  at .  the  trial  to  save  Mrs.  Larcher. 
I  rather  think  you  did  so  yourself,  Kerry." 

"For  the  master's  sake — for  the  master's  sake!  As 
for  the  mistress  she  brought  all  the  trouble  on  our 
heads.  I  lied,  sir,  and  you  lied,  but  she  wasn't  worth 
it.  But  is  there  to  be  trouble  over  it  now,  Mr. 
Hilliston?" 

"No.  Not  if  you  baffle  the  inquiries  of  those  young 
men  at  the  Manor  House.  They  will  meet  you  and 
question  you,  and  get  the  truth  out  of  you  if  they  can. 
Whether  they  do  or  not  all  depends  upon  yourself." 

"You  leave  it  to  me,  sir,"  said  Kerry  confidently. 
"I'll  manage  to  send  them  away  without  being  a  bit 
the  wiser.  And  now,  Mr.  Hilliston,  that  this  is  settled, 
I  would  speak  to  you  about  my  sister  Mona." 

Hilliston  changed  color,  but  nevertheless  retained 
sufficient  composure  to  fix  his  eyes  on  the  man's  face 
with  a  sad  smile.  "What  of  her,  Kerry?"  he  asked, 
in  a  melancholy  tone ;  "  you  know  she  is  dead  and  gone. " 

"Augh!  Augh!  But  her  grave,  sir.  You  must 
tell  me  where  it  is,  for  I  have  it  in  my  mind  to  go  and 
see  it." 

"What  would  be  the  good  of  you  doing  that,"  said 
Hilliston  disapprovingly. 

"Because  I  was  harsh  with  her,  sir.  If  she  did 
wrong,  she  suffered  for  it,  and  it  was  wicked  of  me  to 
let  her  go  as  I  did.     Where  is  her  grave,  sir  ?  " 


A    GLIMPSE    OF   THE   PAST.  215 

**In  Chiswick  Cemetery,"  said  Hilliston,  as  the 
chaise  stopped  at  the  railway  station;  "if  you  come  up 
to  London  and  call  at  my  office  I  will  tell  you  where 
to  find  it." 

Kerry  was  profuse  in  his  thanks,  and,  touching  his 
hat  gratefully,  accepted  the  shilling  which  Hilliston 
put  into  his  hand;  but  when  the  train  containing 
Hilliston  started  for  Eastbourne,  he  threw  away  the 
money,  and  shook  his  fist  after  the  retreating  carriages. 
Not  a  word  did  he  say,  but  the  frown  on  his  face  grew 
deeper  and  deeper  as  he  got  into  the  trap  again,  and 
drove  slowly  back  to  Thorston.  Evidently  he  trusted 
Hilliston  no  more  than  did  Tait  or  Jenny. 

It  was  now  quite  dark,  for  the  daylight  and  after- 
glow had  long  since  vanished  from  the  western  skies, 
and  the  moon  was  not  yet  up.  Only  the  stars  were 
visible  here  and  there  in  the  cloudy  sky,  and  finding 
their  light  insufficient  to  drive  by,  Kerry  got  down 
and  lighted  the  carriage  lamp.  Heaven  only  knows 
of  what  he  was  thinking  as  he  drove  along  the  dusky 
lanes.  The  past  unrolled  itself  before  his  eyes,  and 
what  he  saw  there  made  him  groan  and  heave  deep 
sighs.  But  there  was  no  use  in  so  indulging  his 
memories,  and  thinking  of  his  master,  Kerry  braced 
himself  up  to  see  what  could  be  done  toward  meeting 
the  dangers  which  seemed  to  threaten  on  all  sides. 
When  he  delivered  the  trap  again  to  the  groom  of  the 
vicar,  he  hit  on  an  idea  which  he  proceeded  to  carry 
out. 

Instead  of  going  back  at  once  to  Rose  Cottage,  he 
borrowed  a  piece  of  paper  and  a  pencil  from  the  groom, 
and  laboriously  traced  a  few  lines  by  the  light  of  the 
stable  lantern.     Putting  this  missive  in  his  pocket,  he 


2l6  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

went  off  in  the  direction  of  the  Manor  House;  but 
leaving  the  public  road  he  skirted  the  low  stone  wall 
which  divided  it  from  the  adjacent  fields.  Kerry 
knew  every  inch  of  the  ground,  and  even  in  the  dark- 
ness had  no  difficulty  in  guiding  himself  to  his  destina- 
tion. This  was  a  vantage  point  at  the  end  of  the  wall, 
whence  he  could  see  into  a  sitting  room  of  the  house. 
In  a  few  minutes  Kerry  was  perched  on  this  wall, 
busily  engaged  in  tying  his  letter  to  an  ordinary  sized 
stone. 

Almost  immediately  below  him  the  mansion  stretched 
in  a  kind  of  abrupt  right  angle,  in  which  was  set  two 
wide  windows  overlooking  a  bed  of  flowers.  These 
were  open  to  the  cool  night  air,  and  the  blinds  had 
been  drawn  down,  so  that  Kerry  from  his  lofty  hiding- 
place  could  see  right  into  the  room.  A  tall  brass  lamp 
stood  at  one  end,  and  under  this  sat  Claude  Larcher, 
smoking  and  thinking.  The  glare  of  the  lamp  fell  full 
on  his  fresh-colored  face  and  light  hair,  so  that  Kerry 
felt  as  though  he  were  gazing  at  a  phantom  out  of  that 
dread  past. 

**  He's  as  like  his  father  as  two  peas,"  muttered 
Kerry,  devouring  the  picture  with  his  eyes;  "a  fine 
boy  and  an  honest  gentleman.  Augh !  augh  !  To 
think  that  I  have  nursed  him  on  my  knee  when  he  was 
a  bit  of  lad,  and  now  I'm  here  telling  him  to  go  away. 
But  it's  better  that  than  the  other.  A  curse  on  those 
who  brought  him  here  and  put  sorrow  into  his  heart." 

Thus  muttering,  Kerry  threw  the  stone  lightly 
through  the  window.  It  fell  heavily  on  the  floor 
within  a  few  feet  of  Claude,  who  sprang  to  his  feet 
with  an  exclamation.  Not  waiting  to  see  the  result, 
Kerry  hastily  tumbled  off  the  wall,  jumped  the  ditch, 


A    GLIMPSE    OF    THE   PAST.  217 

and  made  off  in  the  darkness.  By  a  circuitous  route 
he  regained  Rose  Cottage,  and  entered  into  the  kitchen 
worn  out  in  body  and  mind.  He  had  done  his  duty  so 
far  as  in  him  lay,  and  mentally  prayed  that  the  result 
might  tend  to  remove  the  threatened  danger. 

Meanwhile  Claude  had  picked  up  the  stone  and  ran 
to  the  window.  He  could  see  nothing,  for  Kerry  was 
already  halfway  across  the  fields;  he  could  not  even 
guess  whence  the  stone  had  been  thrown.  All  was 
silent,  and  though  he  listened  intently,  he  could  not 
hear  the  sound  of  retreating  footsteps.  With  some 
wonderment  he  untied  the  paper  from  the  stone  and 
smoothed  it  out.  It  was  badly  written  and  badly 
spelled,  and  ran  as  follows: 

"  Bewar  of  danger,  Claude  Larcher,  tak  a  frind's 
advise  and  go  quick  away." 

There  was  no  signature,  and  the  young  man  was 
looking  at  it  in  growing  perplexity  when  Tait  entered 
the  room. 

"What  did  you  shout  out  about?"  he  asked  care- 
lessly.    "I  heard  you  in  the  next  room." 

"You  would  have  shouted  also,"  replied  Larcher, 
holding  out  the  paper.  "This  was  flung  into  the 
room  tied   round  a  stone." 

"You  don't  say  so!     Who  threw  it?" 

"  I  can't  say.  I  rushed  to  the  window  at  once,  but 
saw  no  sign  of  anyone.  What  do  you  think  of  the 
hint  therein  contained  ?  " 

Tait  read  the  anonymous  communication,  pondered 
over  it,  and  finally  delivered  his  opinion  by  uttering 
aname.      "  Hilliston,"  he  said  confidently,  "Hilliston." 


2l8  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

''Nonsense!"  said  Claude  sharply;  "why  should 
he  deal  in  underhand  ways  of  this  sort.  If  he  wanted 
me  to  go  away,  he  could  have  called  and  urged  me  to 
do  so.  But  this — I  don't  believe  Hilliston  would  con- 
descend to  such  trickery." 

"When  a  man  is  in  a  fix  he  will  descend  to  any- 
thing to  get  himself  out  of  it,"  replied  Tait,  plac- 
ing the  paper  in  his  pocketbook.  "I'll  keep  this, 
and,  perhaps,  before  many  days  are  over  I'll  have  an 
opportunity  of  proving  to  you  that  I  speak  truly. 
Who  else  wants  you  to  go  away  besides  Hilliston." 

"Kerry — Denis  Bantry  might!  " 

"I  doubt  whether  Kerry  knows  that  you  are  here. 
You  must  give  matters  time  to  develop  themselves, 
as  the  inmates  of  Rose  Cottage  can't  know  all  about 
us  within  twenty-four  hours." 

"What  between  your  confessions  to  Jenny,  and 
Hilliston's  own  knowledge,  I  think  they'll  know  a 
good  deal  in  one  way  or  another." 

"They  can  know  as  much  as  they  like,"  said  Tait 
quietly,  "but  we  know  more,  and  if  it  comes  to  a  tug 
of  war  I  think  you  and  I  can  win  against  Hilliston  and 
Co.  But  come  outside  and  let  us  examine  the  top  of 
the  wall." 

"Do  you  think  the  stone  was  thrown  from  there  ?" 
asked  Claude,  as  they  went  out  into  the  garden. 

"I  fancy  so  from  your  description.  Light  this 
candle." 

The  night  was  so  still  that  the  flame  of  the  candle 
hardly  wavered.  Tait  gave  it  to  Claude  to  hold,  and 
easily  climbed  up  the  wall  by  thrusting  the  toes  of  his 
boots  in  among  the  loose  stones.  He  examined  the 
top  carefully,  and  then  getting  the  light  tied  it  to  a 


A    GLIMPSE    OF   THE   PAST.  219 

piece  of  string  and  lowered  it  on  the  other  side.  In 
a  few  minutes  he  came  down  again  with  a  satisfied 
look. 

*'As  I  thought,"  he  said,  blowing  out  the  candle. 
"  Someone  has  been  on  that  wall  and  thrown  the  stone 
from  there.  I  saw  the  marks  of  feet  on  the  other  side. 
The  man  who  delivered  the  letter  jumped  the  ditch 
and  made  off  across  the  fields." 

"You  don't  think  it  is  Hilliston  ? "  said  Claude 
doubtfully. 

"No;  but  I  think  it  is  an  emissary  of  Hilliston. 
Perhaps  Denis  Bantry. " 

"Tait!  "  said  Larcher,  after  a  pause,  "from  Hillis- 
ton's  visit  to  Paynton,  from  the  way  in  which  Paynton 
persistently  secludes  himself  from  the  world;  and 
from  the  knowledge  we  possess  that  the  information 
for  Linton's  book  came  out  of  that  cottage,  T  have 
come  to  a  conclusion." 

"What  is  that?" 

"I  believe  that  Ferdinand  Paynton  is  none  other 
than  Mark  Jeringham,  who  killed  my  father." 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

PREPARING    THE    GROUND. 

Aware  that  Claude  would  hear  sooner  or  later  of 
his  visit  to  Paynton,  the  lawyer  wrote  to  forestall  the 
information,  skillfully  alleging  a  business  engagement 
as  his  excuse  for  the  visit.  "I  would  have  called  on 
you,"  he  continued,  "but  that  it  was  already  late  when 
I  left  my  client,  Mr.  Paynton,  and  I  had  to  return  to 
Eastbourne  in  time  for  dinner.  However,  I  hope  to 
come  over  again  shortly,  and  then  you  must  tell  me 
how  you  are  getting  on  with  your  case.  I  am  afraid 
you  will  learn  nothing  at  Thorston. " 

"He  knows  better  than  that,"  said  Tait,  to  whom 
the  letter  was  shown;  "he  is  aware  that  we  have  cut 
the  ground  from  under  his  feet  so  far  as  Jenny  is  con- 
cerned. Moreover,  I  am  certain  that  he  is  the  author 
of  that  anonymous  letter  of  a  few  days  since." 

"  Do  you  really  think  he  came  here  to  ask  Miss 
Paynton  to  keep  silence  ?  "  asked  Claude,  returning 
the  letter  to  his  pocket. 

"  My  dear  fellow,  I  am  certain  of  it.  And  he  also 
wishes  to  show  us  that  he  knows  Paynton,  so  as  to 
warn  us  against  asking  questions  in  that  quarter." 

"  Indeed,  I  think  it  is  useless  to  do  so,"  said  Larcher 
doubtfully;  "  you  know  we  called  yesterday  and  were 
refused  admittance." 

"Oh,  I  spoke  to  Mr.  Linton  about  that,"  replied 


PREPARING    THE    GROUND.  221 

Tait  easily;  "  it  seems  that  such  is  invariably  the  case, 
as  this  hermit  will  see  no  one." 

"  Why  ?  What  can  be  his  reason  for  such  persistent 
seclusion  ?" 

"  I  can't  say,  unless  your  surmise  is  correct,  and  he 
is  Jeringham." 

"I  am  sure  he  is,"  said  Claude  emphatically. 
"Why  was  the  bundle  of  newspapers  containing  an 
account  of  the  murder  found  in  his  house  ?  What  is 
Denis  Bantry  doing  there  if  Paynton  is  not  Jering- 
ham?" 

"The  shoe  is  on  the  other  foot,"  remarked  Tait 
dryly.  "What  is  Denis  Bantry  doing  there  if  Paynton 
is  Jeringham  ?  You  forget,  Claude,  that  we  suspect 
Jeringham  as  the  criminal.  If  this  were  so,  or  if 
Paynton  were  Jeringham,  I  hardly  think  your  father's 
devoted  servant  would  be  at  his  beck  and  call,  unless," 
added  Tait,  as  an  after  thought,  "  Denis  Bantry  is  also 
implicated,  as  we  imagine." 

"I  can't  understand  it,"  cried  Claude,  catching  up 
his  hat;  "in  place  of  growing  clearer,  the  matter 
seems  to  become  more  involved.  How  do  you  intend 
to  proceed  ?  It  seems  to  me  that  we  are  at  a  dead 
stop." 

"By  no  means,  my  dear  fellow.  There  is  Kerry, 
alias  Denis  Bantry,  to  be  examined.  We  must  learn 
the  truth  from  him." 

"  He  won't  tell  it!  Particularly  if  our  suspicions  are 
correct." 

"  Perhaps  not,  but  I  have  provided  against  that 
failure.  You  must  appeal  to  him  as  the  son  of  his  old 
master,  while  I  am  absent." 

"  Absent!     Where  are  you  going  ?  " 


2  22  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

"Can't  you  guess?  To  Horriston,  of  course,  in 
order  to  pick  up  wliat  information  I  can.  There  are 
sure  to  be  people  still  alive  who  remember  your  father 
and  mother;  who  recollect  the  trial,  and  are  still 
acquainted  with  Mr.  Hilliston.  I  expect  to  learn  a 
good  deal  about  that  gentleman  there;  and  perhaps 
something  about  Jeringham  and  his  disappearance." 

"Humph!  I  doubt  if  you  will  be  successful,"  replied 
Claude  gloomily;  "however,  there  is  no  harm  in  try- 
ing.    Where  are  we  going  now  ? " 

"I  told  you  before  we  set  out.  To  call  on  the  vicar. 
As  we  can't  see  Jenny  at  her  father's  house  we  must 
meet  her  in  another  person's.  She  is  like  a  daughter 
to  Mrs.  Linton,  and  is  constantly  at  the  vicarage." 

"And  no  doubt  young  Linton  loves  her." 

"I'm  sure  he  does.  Have  you  any  objection?" 
demanded  Tait  slyly. 

"None!  None!"  said  Claude  hastily.  "I  have 
only  met  her  for  a  few  minutes,  you  know.  But  she 
is  a  remarkably  pretty  girl,  and  from  what  you  say 
seems  to  be  clever.     Too  good  by  half  for  that  idiot." 

"  Idiot  !  John  Parver,  novelist,  the  lion  of  the 
season,  an  idiot  ?  You  forget  he  wrote  the  book  of  the 
year." 

"  So  he  says,"  responded  Larcher  dryly.  "  But  for 
my  part,  I  believe  Jenny  Paynton  has  more  to  do  with 
it  than  he.     I  have  no  doubt  she  wrote  it." 

Further  conversation  was  put  an  end  to  for  the  time 
being  by  their  arrival  at  the  vicarage.  Mr.  Linton,  a 
stiff  old  gentleman  with  a  severe  face,  received  them 
very  kindly,  and  unbent  so  far  as  in  him  lay.  He  had 
been  acquainted  with  Tait  for  many  years,  and  it  was 
during  a  visit  to  him  that  the  little  man  had  seen  and 


PREPARING    THE   GROUND.  223 

purchased  Thorston  Manor.  Knowing  him  to  be 
wealthy,  and  being  well  disposed  toward  him  for  his 
own  sake,  Mr.  Linton  was  anxious  to  make  the  Lord 
of  the  Manor  at  home  in  his  house.  Vicars  cannot 
afford  to  neglect  opulent  parishioners, 

"I  hope,  Mr.  Tait,  that  you  will  shortly  take  up 
your  abode  altogether  at  the  Manor,"  said  he  pom- 
pously.     "  I  am  not  in  favor  of  an  absentee  landlord." 

"Oh,  you'll  see  a  good  deal  of  me,  Mr.  Linton,  I 
assure  you.  I  am  too  much  in  love  with  the  beauties 
of  the  place  to  stay  long  away.  Moreover,  I  am  not  a 
roamer  like  my  friend  Larcher  here." 

"  It  is  necessary  with  me,"  said  Claude,  smiling  ;  "I 
assure  you,  sir,  I  am  not  the  wandering  vagabond  Tait 
would  make  me  out  to  be." 

"It  is  proper  to  see  the  world,"  said  the  vicar,  with 
heavy  playfulness,  "  and  when  you  have  made  your 
fortune  in  far  countries,  Mr.  Larcher,  you  may  settle 
down  in  this  favored  spot." 

"I  could  wish  for  nothing  better,  Mr.  Linton.  But 
the  time  is  yet  far  off  for  that." 

"  My  son  is  also  fond  of  traveling,"  continued  Mr. 
Linton.  "  Now  that  he  is  making  a  good  income  he 
tells  me  that  it  is  his  intention  to  go  to  Italy." 

"You  are  proud  of  your  son,  Mr.  Linton,"  said 
Tait  genially. 

"Without  doubt!  Without  doubt!  The  book  he 
wrote  is  clever,  although  I  do  not  care  for  sensational 
writing  myself." 

"  It  pays.  The  taste  of  the  age  is  in  the  direction 
of  sensationalism." 

"Certainly,  certainly.  And  I  suppose  it  is  only 
natural  that  Francis  should  write  some  frivolity.     He 


224  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

was  never  a  deep  scholar.  What  does  astonish  me," 
added  the  vicar,  raising  his  eyebrows,  "is  that  a 
student  like  Mr.  Paynton  should  desire  to  read  the 
book." 

Tait  and  Claude  glanced  at  one  another  with  the 
same  thought  in  their  minds  respecting  this  informa- 
tion. Informed  by  Hilliston  of  the  use  made  by 
Linton  of  the  Larcher  affair,  Paynton  was  anxious  to 
see  in  what  light  the  case  had  been  placed.  This  curi- 
osity argued  that  the  recluse  had  been  one  of  the 
actors  in  the  tragedy;  if  so,  he  could  only  be  Jering- 
ham.  since  Captain  Larcher  was  dead,  and  they  knew 
both  Denis  Bantry  and  Francis  Hilliston.  The  vicar, 
worthy  man,  was  quite  ignorant  of  the  effect  produced 
by  this  announcement;  nor  was  he  undeceived  by  the 
artful  reply  of  Tait. 

"  Naturally  Mr.  Paynton  wants  to  read  the  book," 
said  the  latter  diplomatically.  "If  I  mistake  not,  he 
has  a  great  liking  for  Frank." 

"Indeed,  yes,"  responded  Mr.  Linton  thankfully. 
"  He  taught  Francis  Latin  along  with  Jenny.  He 
would  have  made  a  scholar  of  him.  I  am  indeed  sorry 
that  my  son  failed  to  profit  by  his  association  with  so 
brilliant  a  student.  He  might  have  written  a  better 
book." 

Clearly  the  vicar  was  by  no  means  impressed  with  the 
sensationalism  of  "A  Whim  of  Fate,"  and  would  rather 
his  son  had  written  an  honest  pamphlet  or  a  grave 
tragedy  than  have  produced  so  meretricious  a  piece  of 
three-volume  frivolity.  However,  he  had  no  time  to 
talk  further  on  this  matter,  for  as  he  ended  his  speech 
the  subject  of  it  entered  the  room  with  Jenny  and 
Mrs.  Linton.     The  former  started  and  flushed  as  she 


PREPARING    THE   GROUND.  225 

saw  Claude,  and  remembered  his  romantic  history  and 
their  former  meeting. 

"  My  wife,  Mr.  Larcher.  You  know  Mr.  Tait  of 
course,  my  dear.  Miss  Paynton,  Mr.  Larcher,  and 
my  son." 

"I  have  already  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  Mr. 
Frank  Linton  in  town,"  said  Claude,  holding  out  his 
hand.  The  young  author  took  it  willingly  enough,  and 
then  the  company  resolved  itself  into  two  groups;  the 
vicar  and  his  wife  conversing  with  Tait,  while  Claude, 
seconded  by  Frank,  made  himself  agreeable  to  Jenny. 
Neither  the  lady  nor  the  author  were  pleased  with  this 
arrangement,  as  the  former  felt  uneasy  when  she 
remembered  her  father's  position,  while  the  latter  felt 
jealous  of  Claude's  superior  good  looks.  Frank  Linton 
was,  of  course,  ignorant  that  he  was  in  the  company 
of  the  son  of  the  Horriston  victim;  he  did  not  even 
know  the  names  of  the  people  or  that  of  the  place,  and 
had  simply  written  the  story  on  the  meager  informa- 
tion afforded  by  Jenny.  He  could  not,  therefore, 
understand  the  interest  which  those  two  displayed  in 
one  another,  and  so  grew  jealous  on  seeing  it. 

It  would  be  useless  to  report  this  conversation, 
which  in  the  main  consisted  of  frivolities.  Warned  by 
her  father,  Jenny  was  on  her  guard,  and  carefully 
avoided  any  allusion  to  the  Larcher  affair.  On  his 
part,  not  knowing  the  reticence  Jenny  had  practised 
with  regard  to  Linton,  Claude  tried  to  lead  the  con- 
versation into  a  grove  likely  to  deal  with  the  novel  and 
case.  At  one  point  he  did  this  so  clumsily  that  Jenny 
spoke  outright  on  the  subject. 

"Let  us  talk  no  more  of  that,  Mr.  Larcher,"  she 
said  quietly.    "  1  told  Mr.  Tait  all  1  knew  the  other  day." 


2  26  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

"I  have  to  thank  you "  began  Claude,  when  she 

cut  him  short,  and  turned  the  conversation  into 
another  channel.  The  young  man  was  disappointed  in 
this,  but  nevertheless  fell  in  with  her  humor,  and  when, 
following  Tait's  example,  he  arose  to  go,  he  was  quite 
charmed  with  this  country  girl. 

"I  hope  you  will  come  soon  again,"  said  the  vicar 
hospitably,  as  he  shook  hands.  "We  must  have  a 
party  shortly.  Our  friends,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hilliston, 
have  promised  to  come  and  stay  the  night  during  next 
week." 

"Another  move,  and  a  foolish  one,"  thought  Tait, 
but  said  aloud:  "We  will  be  charmed,  Mr.  Linton,  the 
more  so  as  Mr.  Hilliston  is  my  friend's  guardian — or 
rather  was." 

Jenny  looked  startled  at  this,  and  her  rich  color 
faded  when  she  said  good-by  to  Claude.  The  mystery 
of  the  affair  was  beginning  to  worry  her,  and  she  could 
by  no  means  understand  the  relation  of  Hilliston  to 
Larcher  ;  Hilliston,  who  was  the  guardian  and  friend; 
Hilliston  who,  judging  from  the  veto  put  on  her  speak- 
ing, was  inimical  to  Claude.  Untroubled  by  their  con- 
versation Claude  held  but  one  idea  when  he  left  the 
house  with  Tait. 

"  I'm  afraid  I  am  in  love,"  said  he,  looking  at  his 
friend. 

* '  What !  at  first  sight  ?     Impossible ! " 

"  Shakspere  did  not  think  so,  or  he  would  not  have 
written  'Romeo  and  Juliet'  Yes,  I  believe  I  am  in 
love.  Jenny  is  as  fresh  and  fair,  and  pure  and  sweet 
as  a  mountain  daisy." 

"You  had  better  tell  Linton  so,"  said  Tait  dryly, 
whereat  Larcher  laughed.     He  was  too  confident  in  his 


PREPARING    THE   GROUND.  227 

own  powers  to  be  timorous  of  rivalry  with  the  cele- 
brated individual. 

"There  is  no  need  to  tell  him,"  he  said  lightly;  "the 
poor  man  was  eaten  up  with  jealousy  when  I  spoke  to 
Miss  Paynton.  By  the  way,  did  you  see  that  she 
changed  color  when  you  mentioned  that  Hilliston  had 
been  my  guardian  ?" 

"It  was  natural  that  she  should.  Hilliston  Is  a 
suspicious  person  in  her  eyes,  and  this  discovery  will 
perplex  her  still  more  regarding  his  relations  with  you. 
Jenny  is  a  very  clever  young  woman,  but  I  wonder  if 
she  is  clever  enough  to  put  this  and  that  together." 

"  To  arrive  at  what  conclusion  ?  " 

"  At  the  most  logical  conclusion.  That  her  father  is 
Jeringham,  whom  she  suspects  of  the  crime." 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

KERRY. 

Having,  as  he  considered,  prepared  the  ground  by 
acquainting  Claude  with  the  notabilities  of  the  neigh- 
borhood, Tait  next  proceeded  to  secure  an  interview 
with  Kerry.  This  was  by  no  means  an  easy  matter,  as, 
either  by  accident  or  design,  Kerry  eluded  all  the  young 
men's  attempts  to  interview  him.  Hitherto  he  had 
been  accustomed  to  fish  daily  in  the  Lax,  but  now, 
doubtless  by  direction  of  his  master,  he  forsook  his 
customary  sport  for  some  considerable  time.  His 
absence  speedily  roused  Tait's  suspicions. 

"  Hilliston  has  succeeded  well,"  said  he,  after  one  of 
these  futile  attempts  to  seethe  old  servant.  "  He  has 
put  Jeringham  on  his  guard." 

"  Paynton,  you  mean,"  observed  Claude,  looking  up 
from  his  plate.  They  were  at  breakfast  when  this 
conversation  took  place. 

"I  thought  you  had  determined  in  your  own  mind 
that  he  was  Jeringham." 

"  No,"  said  Claude,  coloring  a  little;  "  I  have  come 
round  to  your  opinion  in  the  matter.  If  Paynton  were 
Jeringham,  I  don't  think  Denis  Bantry  would  be  in 
his  service." 

"Ah!"  remarked  Tait  sarcastically,  "is  that  the 
result  of  reflection  or  of  love  ?  " 

"  Of  love  ?     I  don't  understand  you." 

228 


KERRY.  229 

"Yes,  you  do,  Claude.  You  are  in  love  with  Jenny. 
The  last  week  has  only  deepened  your  first  impres- 
sions. I  believe  she  likes  you  also,  and  so  I  foresee  a 
marriage  which  will  rob  me  of  my  friend." 

"I  am  not  so  certain  of  that  as  you  are,"  said 
Larcher,  after  a  pause.  "Miss  Paynton  has  given  me 
no  hint  of  her  feelings,  and  our  acquaintance  is  yet 
young.  Even  if  I  did  design  to  make  her  my  wife,  I 
would  have  to  gain  her  consent,  and  that  of  her  father. 
Judging  from  Paynton's  present  attitude  that  consent 
would  most  probably  be  refused." 

Tait  did  not  immediately  reply,  but  stared  out  of 
the  window  with  an  absent  look  in  his  eyes.  The 
remark  changed  the  current  of  his  ideas. 

"  I  wonder  who  Paynton  can  be  ? "  he  said  at  length, 
with  some  hesitation.  "That  he  is  connected  with 
the  case  I  am  certain  from  the  way  in  which  he  has 
profited  by  the  warning  of  Hilliston.  Like  yourself,  I 
have  my  doubts  regarding  his  identity  with  Jeringham, 
because  of  Denis  Bantry.  Who  is  he  ?  I  must  go  to 
Horriston  to-morrow  and  find  out." 

"And  what  am  I  to  do  in  the  meantime  ?" 

"Hunt  out  Kerry  and  learn  the  truth,"  said  Tait 
coolly.  "  I  think,  after  all,  it  will  be  best  for  you  to 
see  him  alone.  I  am  a  stranger,  and  he  won't  speak 
before  me;  but  to  you,  the  son  of  his  old  master,  he 
may  open  his  heart.  Once  he  does  that  you  may  learn 
the  truth." 

"I  doubt  it." 

"Well,  there  is  a  chance.  Whatever  tie  binds 
Denis  to  Paynton,  you  must  not  forget  that  he  is  Irish. 
The  Irish  are  an  impulsive  and  excitable  race,  so  it  is 
just  possible   that  his  feelings   may  carry  him  away  in 


230  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

your   presence,    and    he  may  tell  you  all  we  wish    to 
know." 

'•  Do  you  think  he  can  solve  the  mystery  ?  " 
"  Yes.  He  was  in  the  house  when  Jeringham  came 
home  with  your  mother;  he  picked  up  the  garnet  pin, 
and,  it  may  be,  can  tell  us  to  whom  it  belongs.  It  may 
be  the  property  of  Hilliston,  as  is  stated  in  the  novel; 
on  the  other  hand  it  may  belong  to  your  father  or  to 
Jeringham.  Of  one  point  I  am  sure,  the  person  who 
owned  the  pin  killed  your  father.  Kerry,  or  rather 
Denis  Bantry,  knows  the  owner,  and  consequently  the 
murderer." 

"  If  so,  why  did  he  not  denounce  him  ? " 
''There  you  puzzle  me,"  said  Tait,  rising  to  his 
feet;  "that  is  one  of  the  many  mysteries  of  this  case. 
Only  Denis  can  explain,  and  he  may  do  so  to  you.  I 
shall  stay  at  home  this  morning,  and  prepare  for  my 
journey  to  Horriston;  but  you  had  better  take  your 
fishing  rod  and  go  to  your  post." 

The  post  alluded  to  was  on  the  banks  of  the  Lax, 
where  for  the  past  week  the  young  men  had  patiently 
waited  for  the  appearance  of  Denis.  On  this  morning 
Claude  found  himself  alone  for  the  first  time;  and  sat 
down  with  a  disconsolate  air,  for  he  had  little  hope 
that  Denis  would  make  his  appearance.  In  this  sur- 
mise he  was  wrong,  for  scarcely  had  he  been  seated 
half  an  hour  when  the  Irishman  came  slowly  along  on 
the  opposite  bank  of  the  river. 

He  was  a  little  old  man,  gray  as  a  badger,  with 
stooped  shoulders,  and  a  cross-looking  face.  Without 
vouchsafing  a  look  in  Claude's  direction,  he  prepared 
his  fishing  tackle  and  began  industriously  to  whip  the 
stream.     Hardly  knowing  how  to  break  the  ice,  Larcher 


KERRY.  231 

silently  continued  his  sport,  and  the  two,  divided  by 
the  water,  stood  like  statues  on  opposite  banks. 

After  a  time  Denis,  who  had  been  cunningly  taking 
stock  of  Claude,  and  wondering  why  his  letter  had  not 
produced  the  effect  intended,  moved  down  to  where 
the  stream  narrowed  itself  between  large  stones. 
Determined  to  invent  some  excuse  for  speaking, 
Larcher  followed  after  a  time,  and  stepped  out  on  to  a 
bowlder,  apparently  to  throw  his  line  into  a  likely 
looking  pool.  Being  within  reach,  he  flung  his  line, 
and  the  next  moment  it  was  entangled  in  that  of 
Kerry's. 

"  I'm  sorry!  Quite  an  accident,"  said  Claude,  noting 
the  wrath  on  Kerry's  face.      "  Let  me  disentangle  it." 

He  jumped  into  the  brown  water  and,  before  Kerry 
could  make  any  objection,  was  across  on  the  other 
side,  gripping  the  lines.  Without  a  word  the  Irish- 
man let  him  separate  the  two  lines,  and  then  busied 
himself  with  fixing  a  fly.  Nettled  at  this  determined 
silence  Claude  spoke. 

"I  wish  to  speak  with  you,"  he  said,  tapping  the 
other  on  the  shoulder. 

"Is  it  to  me  ye  speak?"  replied  Kerry,  with  an 
admirable  look  of  surprise;  "and  what  has  the  like  of 
you,  sir,  to  say  to  me  ?  " 

"  A  great  deal.     Do  you  know  who  I  am  ? " 

"Sure,  an'  I  do,  sir.  The  friend  of  Mr.  Tait,  you 
are  no  less." 

"  But  my  name.     Do  you  know  it  ? " 

"  Bad  luck  to  this  stream,  there's  never  a  fish  in  it," 
grumbled  Kerry,  with  a  convenient  attack  of  deafness. 

Claude  was  in  nowise  angered. 

"  That  is  very  clever,  Kerry, "  he  said ;   ' '  but " 


232  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

"An'  how  do  you  know  my  name  is  Kerry?" 

"Are  you  surprised  that  I  should  know  it?" 

*'I  am  that,"  repUed  Kerry  sharply.  "I  never  set 
eyes  on  you  before." 

"  Oh,  yes,  you  did — twenty-five  years  ago." 

"Begorra,  that's  a  lie,  anyhow!  "  muttered  Kerry, 
under  his  breath,  with  an  uneasy  wriggle. 

"It  is  not  a  lie,  and  you  know  it,  my  man,"  said 
Larcher  firmly;  "  it  is  no  use  your  pretending  ignor- 
ance.    I  know  who  you  are." 

"  Devil  a  doubt  of  it!     Kerry,  you  called  me." 

"Yes  !  Because  you  are  known  by  that  name  here. 
But  at  Horriston " 

Claude  stopped.  He  saw  the  hands  of  the  old  man 
grip  the  rod  so  tight  that  the  knuckles  whitened. 
The  name  had  produced  the  effect  he  intended.  So, 
almost  without  a  pause,  he  continued,  and  aimed 
another  blow  at  Kerry's  imperturbability.  "At  Hor- 
riston," he  resumed,  "you  were  known  as  Denis 
Bantry." 

"  Was  I,  now?"  said  Kerry,  prepared  for  the  attack. 
"  Augh,  to  think  of  it!  And  where  might  Horriston 
be,  sir?" 

"You  ought  to  know  that,  Denis." 

"Your  honor  will  be  after  giving  me  the  name  of  a 
friend  of  yours." 

"Quite  right,"  rejoined  Claude,  seizing  the  oppor- 
tunity. "  You  were — nay,  you  are — a  friend  of  mine. 
I  am  the  little  lad  you  carried  in  your  arms — to  whom 
you  told  stories,  and  sang  songs.  Children  forget  a 
great  deal,  but  I  have  not  forgotten  you,  Denis." 

In  dogged  silence  the  old  man  turned  his  head  away, 
intently  bent  on  his  sport,  but  suddenly  he  raised  the 


KERR  Y.  233 

cuff  of  his  coat  and  wiped  away  a  betraying  tear. 
Seeing  that  he  had  touched  the  man's  sympathy,  Claude 
followed  up  his  advantage. 

"You  are  not  going  to  deny  me,  Denis,  are  you?" 
he  said  entreatingly.  "I  am  down  here  on  an  errand 
which  you  must  guess.     If  Hilliston " 

"The  curse  of  Cromwell  on  him ! "  said  Kerry,  under 
his  breath. 

"If  Hilliston  told  you  to  keep  silent,"  said  Claude, 
affecting  to  take  no  notice  of  the  interjection,  which 
confirmed  his  suspicions,  "  I,  the  son  of  your  dead 
master,  want  you  to  speak.  I  wish  to  find  out  who 
killed  my  father.  I  wish  to  punish  him,  for  you  know 
his  name." 

Kerry  turned  furiously  on  the  young  man,  but  it 
seemed  to  Claude  that  his  anger  was  feigned  to  hide 
a  deeper  emotion. 

"  It  is  a  dirty  informer  you'd  have  me  be,"  he  cried, 
with  a  stamp  of  his  foot,  "to  betray  him  whose  bread 
I  eat.  I'll  tell  you  nothing,  for  it's  that  much  I 
know." 

"  Denis " 

"I'm  not  Denis!  It's  Kerry  I  am.  I  know  nothing 
of  Horriston,  or  of  you,  sir.  Go  away  with  ye,  young 
gentleman,  and  don't  be  after  disgracing  an  old  ser- 
vant to  play  the  spy  and  cheat." 

Then,  still  breathing  fury,  he  rushed  away,  but 
paused  some  distance  off  to  raise  his  hands  to  the 
sky  with  an  appealing  gesture.  The  impulsive  Irish 
nature  had  broken  through  diplomatic  reserve,  and, 
fearful  of  saying  too  much,  Kerry  saved  himself  by 
flight.  Claude  guessed  this  and  forebore  to  follow 
him. 


234  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

**I  have  broken  the  ice  at  all  events,"  he  said  to 
himself,  when  returning  to  the  Manor  to  tell  Tait. 
"The  next  time  I  may  be  fortunate  enough  to  force 
the  truth  out  of  him.  He  knows  it,  I  am  certain.  He 
hates  Hilliston  and  loves  me.  I  can  easily  guess  with 
whom  he  sympathizes,  in  spite  of  his  master.  He  is 
Denis,  sure  enough,  but  who  is  Paynton  ? " 

It  was  impossible  to  say. 


CHAPTER    XXX. 

MRS.     BEZEL    AGAIN. 

On  returning  home  Claude  found  that  Tait,  con- 
trary to  his  expressed  intention,  had  gone  out.  Dor- 
mer, who  was  packing  a  portmanteau  for  the  Horriston 
journey,  could  not  inform  Larcher  when  his  master 
would  be  back,  but  ventured  an  opinion  that  he  would 
certainly  return  to  luncheon.  Meanwhile,  he  handed 
to  Claude  some  letters  which  had  just  arrived,  and 
with  these  the  young  man  managed  to^  pass  a  fairly 
uncomfortable  hour.  Uncomfortable,  because  one  of 
the  letters  was  from  Mrs.  Bezel,  and  proved  of  so 
puzzling  a  character  that  Larcher  was  in  a  fever  of 
impatience  to  discuss  it  with  Tait. 

The  little  man  returned  to  luncheon,  as  was  sur- 
mised by  Dormer,  and  was  met  in  the  hall  by  Claude 
with  the  open  letter  of  Mrs.  Bezel  in  his  hand. 

*'My  dear  fellow,  why  did  you  go  out?"  said 
Larcher  complainingly.  "I  have  so  much  to  tell  you. 
I  have  seen  Kerry,  and  now  here  is  a  letter  from  Mrs. 
Bezel." 

"What!  is  she  on  the  stage  again?"  said  Tait 
eagerly.     "Let  me  see  the  letter." 

"  Not  yet,"  replied  Claude,  putting  it  promptly 
behind  his  back.  "You  must  first  tell  me  why  you 
left  the  house,  when  you  ought  to  be  packing  up  for 
Horriston." 

235 


236  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

Tait  shrugged  his  shoulders,  bowed  to  the  inevitable, 
and  went  into  the  dining  room.  Here  he  sat  at  the 
table  and  began  to  carve  some  cold  beef,  thereby- 
throwing  Claude  into  a  rage. 

"  You  cold-blooded  little  monster,"  he  cried,  tapping 
on  the  table,  "will  you  satisfy  my  curiosity?" 

"  Why  should  I  ?  "  said  Tait,  grinning.  "  You  won't 
satisfy  mine." 

"Then  read  the  letter,"  retorted  Claude,  throwing 
it  across  the  table.  To  his  surprise  Tait  placed  it  on 
one  side. 

"Not  yet!"  he  said,  resuming  his  carving.  "We 
must  have  a  talk  first.     Have  some  beef." 

"I  don't  want  beef,  but  information." 

"You  shall  have  both,"  said  Tait  calmly.  "Do 
you  prefer  beer  or  claret  ?  " 

"  Beer!  "  replied  Larcher  resignedly,  falling  in  with 
the  tricksey  humor  of  his  friend.  Tait  was  a  man  with 
whom  it  was  impossible  to  quarrel. 

"Dormer,  fill  Mr.  Larcher's  glass;  put  the  claret 
jug  beside  me,  and  leave  the  room.  We  will  wait  on 
ourselves." 

As  stolid  as  a  wooden  image  Dormer  obeyed  these 
instructions,  and  wheeled  out  of  the  room.  Tait  ate  a 
few  mouthfuls  of  beef,  drank  a  glass  of  claret,  and  pre- 
pared to  talk.     His  first  remark  was  a  bombshell. 

"  I  have  seen  Paynton,"  said  he  slowly. 

"The  deuce  you  have!"  cried  Claude,  in  surprise; 
"and  how  did  you  manage  to  take  his  castle  by 
storm  ? " 

"Easily  enough,  by  the  help  of  a  lie  and  a  little 
strategy.  I  went  out  to  see  if  you  were  at  your  post, 
and  caught  sight  of  Kerry  crossing  the  fields.     As  I 


MRS.   BEZEL   AGAIN.  237 

knew  Jenny  would  be  at  the  Lintons', — for  she  goes 
there  to  see  the  old  lady  every  morning, — I  guessed 
that  Rose  Cottage  would  be  undefended;  so  back  I  ran 
to  the  house,  picked  up  a  book  which  I  had  promised 
to  lend  the  young  lady,  and  went  to  pay  my  visit." 

"  How  did  you  get  inside  the  gate  ?  It  is  generally 
locked." 

"It  wasn't  on  this  occasion,"  replied  Tait  com- 
placently. "I  opened  it  and  walked  in,  to  find  old 
Paynton  strolling  in  the  garden.  Catching  sight  of 
me,  he  turned  back  to  re-enter  the  house,  but,  luckily, 
I  was  between  him  and  the  door,  so  we  met  face  to 
face." 

"What  kind  of  a  man  is  he  to  look  at  ?  " 

"Oh,  a  fine-looking  old  chap,  with  white  hair  and 
beard,  a  skullcap,  and  a  dressing  gown.  Quite  the 
get  up  of  a  necromancer." 

"Did  he  speak  to  you,"  asked  Claude,  having  con- 
sidered this  description. 

"He  asked  me  politely  what  my  business  was; 
whereupon  I  presented  the  book,  and  mentioned  that 
it  was  for  his  daughter.  He  replied  that  she  was  at 
the  Lintons',  and  would  be  back  soon,  when  he  would 
give  her  the  book  himself.  Then  he  asked  me  to 
excuse  him,  and  bowed  me  out  of  the  gate.  But," 
added  Tait,  with  emphasis,  "not  before  I  had  men- 
tioned that  Mr.  Claude  Larcher  was  staying  with  me." 

"  Did  my  name  produce  any  effect  ?  " 

"Rather!  Paynton  changed  color,  and  mumbled 
something  unintelligible.  Then  he  turned  his  back 
and  walked  quickly  into  the  house,  leaving  me  to  close 
the  gate  myself.  Depend  upon  it,  he  knows  some- 
thing, Claude." 


238  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

"  But  his  name  isn't  mentioned  in  connection  with 
the  case." 

*'0f  course  not.  Paynton  is  a  feigned  one.  And, 
as  I  have  said  before,  there  are,  no  doubt,  actors  in  the 
tragedy  of  whom  we  know  nothing." 

"There  is  one  of  that  sort  mentioned  here,"  said 
Larcher,  picking  up  Mrs.  Bezel's  letter.  "  Read  that, 
Tait,  and  see  what  you  make  of  it." 

It  proved  to  be  a  short  note,  hastily  written,  and  ran 
as  follows: 

**  My  Dear  Claude: 

"  If  you  are  still  in  doubt  as  to  who  murdered  your 
father,  ask  Mr.  Hilliston  to  tell  you  about  Louisa 
Sinclair,  who  lived  at  Horriston  twenty-five  years  ago. 
She  knows. 

"Your  affectionate  mother, 

"Margaret  Bezel." 

"Louisa  Sinclair,"  repeated  Tait  slowly,  having 
mastered  the  contents  of  this  letter.  "No,  I  never 
heard  of  her.  It  is  strange  that  Hilliston  has  never 
mentioned  her  name." 

"  No  doubt  he  had  good  reasons  for  not  doing  so," 
said  Claude  bitterly.  "You  need  not  look  so  aston- 
ished, Tait.  I  have  long  ago  come  round  to  your 
opinion  of  my  old  guardian.  His  intimacy  with  Payn- 
ton and  the  effect  of  his  visit  on  Kerry  would  convince 
me — not  to  speak  of  that  '  anonymous  letter.'  " 

"Ah!  Kerry  refused  to  speak." 

"  He  would  not  say  a  word,  and,  moreover,  stated 
that  he  was  not  Denis  Bantry;  that  he  had  never  heard 
of  Horriston.     In   fact,  he  acted   his  part   excellently 


MRS.    BEZEL  AGAIN.  239 

well  till  the  last.     Then  he  broke  down,  and,  afraid  of 
letting  the  cat  out  of  the  bag,  he  ran  away." 

"Exactly  what  his  master  did,"  said  Tait  thought- 
fully. "  Depend  upon  it,  Claude,  we  will  learn  the 
truth  from  one  of  those  two." 

"If  you  think  so,  why  go  to  Horriston  ?" 

"  Because  I  want  to  learn  the  real  name  of  Paynton, 
and,  moreover,  here  is  an  additional  reason.  I  must 
find  out  Louisa  Sinclair." 

"There  is  no  mention  of  her  in  the  case." 

"Quite  true.  And  there  is  no  mention  of  Paynton; 
but  for  all  that  he  knows  about  it.  Oh,  you  may  be 
sure  there  are  circumstances  to  be  discovered  at  Hor- 
riston which  never  came  to  light  at  the  trial." 

"  My  mother  is  anxious  for  the  mystery  to  be 
cleared   up." 

"So  I  see,  and  I  am  glad  of  it,"  said  Tait,  with  an 
affectation  of  carelessness.  "I  thought  she  was  too 
ill  to  take  an  interest  in  the  matter." 

"Am  I  to  ask  Hilliston  about  this  woman  ? "  said 
Claude,  looking  up  in  some  doubt. 

"No,"  replied  his  friend,  after  a  few  moments'  de- 
liberation. "  Our  success  in  this  depends  on  keeping 
Hilliston  in  the  dark  concerning  our  movements.  If 
we  tell  him  too  much  he  may  thwart  us,  as  he  has  done 
already  in  this  Paynton  business.  Say  nothing  about 
Louisa  Sinclair,  or  about  my  visit  to  Horriston.  Tell 
him  I  have  gone  to  town,  and  let  him  figure  out  the  rea- 
son for  himself.      By  the  way,  when  do  you  see  him  ?" 

"On  Friday  evening.  Both  he  and  his  wife  are 
coming  to  dine,  and  stop  all  night  at  the  vicarage. 
You  may  be  sure  Hilliston  will  put  me  through  a 
thorough  cross-examination  regarding  your  absence." 


240  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

"Refer  him  to  Mr.  Linton,"  said  Tait  coolly.  "I 
am  writing  to  that  gentleman,  telling  him  I  am  unex- 
pectedly called  to  town  on  particular  business.  What 
that  business  is  Hilliston  will  be  anxious  to  know.  I 
don't  think  he'll  enjoy  his  evening  at  all.  A  guilty 
conscience  mars  all  pleasure." 

"When  do  you  leave?" 

"By  the  4.20  train  this  afternoon.  I'll  write  you 
about  my  discoveries  as  soon  as  I  find  out  anything 
worth  scribbling  about." 

"You'll  find  nothing,"  ^aid  Claude  dolefully; 
"after  five-and-twenty  years." 

"I'll  find  out  who  Louisa  Sinclair  is,  and  then 
astonish  Hilliston  with  the  extent  of  my  information. 
Regarding  Paynton,  I  am  not  so  certain.  That  dis- 
covery rests  between  you  and  Denis  Bantry." 

"I'll  do  my  best,  but  I  am  doubtful,"  replied 
Claude,  and  so  the  conversation  terminated  for  the 
time  being.  It  left  a  lasting  impression  on  the  two 
who  took  part  in  it. 

Tait  duly  took  his  departure  with  Dormer,  leaving 
Claude  in  possession  of  the  house.  As  he  leaned  out 
of  the  window  of  the  smoking  carriage,  he  said  a  last 
word  to  his  friend: 

"Don't  tell  Hilliston  about  my  going  to  Horriston," 
he  said  significantly;  "but  if  you  get  a  chance  inform 
his  wife  of  the  fact." 

"Why  ?" 

"I'll  tell  you  that  when  I  come  back,"  said  Tait, 
as  the  train  moved  slowly  off.  "Give  her  the  infor- 
mation, and  observe  the  effect;  it  will  astonish  you." 

But  Tait  counted  without  his  host;  he  was  ignorant 
of  Mrs.  Hilliston's  powers  of  self-control. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

AN    EVENING    AT    THE    VICARAGE. 

The  Vicar  of  Thorston  was  a  severe  man,  a  trifle 
narrow  in  his  views,  and  imperious  of  temper;  but  he 
was  also  fond  of  good  cheer  and  hospitality — virtues 
which  cover  a  multitude  of  sins.  Those  who  sat  at 
his  table  were  sure  of  a  capital  dinner  and  an  excellent 
glass  of  wine;  for  his  cook  and  cellar  were  both 
undeniable.  Report  said  that  Mr.  Linton  was  afraid 
of  his  cook,  for  that  good  lady  had  a  hot  temper,  and 
feared  no  man.  Many  were  the  battles  between  her 
and  the  vicar,  but  being  a  perfect  mistress  of  the 
culinary  art,  she  invariably  came  off  victor.  She  had 
her  faults,  but  she  was  a  jewel  of  a  cook,  and  was 
valued  accordingly. 

On  this  special  evening  the  vicar  had  assembled  ten 
people,  including  himself,  round  his  hospitable  board. 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Hilliston  were  the  principal  guests,  and 
Claude  was  also  honored  with  special  attention.  An 
old  couple  named  Densham,  garrulous  and  pleasant, 
had  likewise  been  invited;  and  they,  with  their 
daughter  and  Jenny  Paynton,  completed  the  party. 
To  Claude  was  assigned  Miss  Paynton,  while  to  Frank 
Linton  was  given  the  Densham  damsel,  an  arrange- 
ment which  was  anything  but  pleasing  to  that  jealous 
young  man,  or  indeed  to  Miss  Densham,  who  thought 
the  famous  author  a  grumpy  creature.  He  was  too 
preoccupied  to  please  her  taste. 

241 


242  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

Claude  thought  he  had  never  seen  Mrs.  Hilliston  to 
such  disadvantage.  She  appeared  ill  at  ease,  and  was 
haggard  and  pale  of  face,  looking  every  year  of  her 
age.  Even  the  rich  dress  and  splendid  jewels  she 
wore  failed  to  conceal  the  ravages  of  time;  and  in  the 
neighborhood  of  the  fresh  beauty  of  the  two  girls  she 
seemed  an  old  woman.  She  felt  this  herself,  for 
Claude  noted  that  she  threw  an  envious  glance  at  the 
blooming  faces  of  her  rivals,  and  surveyed  her  wan 
looks  in  the  nearest  glass  with  a  sigh.  To  her  the 
party  was  purgatory. 

Nor  did  the  lawyer  appear  to  enjoy  himself.  He 
was  moody  and  fretful,  though  every  now  and  then  he 
forced  himself  to  be  merry,  but  his  laugh  was  hollow, 
and  the  careworn  expression  of  his  face  belied  his 
untimely  mirth.  Sometimes  he  stole  a  furtive  look  at 
Claude,  and  seemed  to  brood  over  the  young  man's 
changed  manner;  for,  do  what  he  could,  Larcher, 
deeming  his  old  friend  an  enemy,  could  not  behave 
with  his  former  cordiality.  He  was  ill-suited  for  a 
diplomat. 

The  dinner  passed  off  with  moderate  success.  Frank 
was  complimented  on  his  book,  and  the  prosy  couple 
had  to  be  told  the  main  points  of  the  story.  This 
brief  recital  made  at  least  three  people  uncomfortable; 
for  Claude  raised  his  eyes  to  encounter  an  angry  glance 
from  Hilliston,  and  a  deprecating  one  from  Jenny. 
They  were  relieved  when  the  vicar,  who  by  no  means 
approved  of  such  attention  being  bestowed  on  a  trashy 
novel,  even  though  his  son  was  the  author,  turned  the 
conversation  into  another  channel.  Mr.  Linton  liked 
to  lead  the  conversation  at  his  own  table. 

"I    wish    to    speak   to    you    particularly,    Claude," 


AN  EVENING  AT    THE    VICARAGE.  243 

whispered  Mrs.  Hilliston,  as  he  held  the  door  open  for 
the  ladies  to  retire;   "do  not  be  long  over  your  wine." 

"I  will  come  as  soon  as  I  can,"  he  replied,  and 
returned  to  his  seat,  wondering  what  she  could  have 
to  say  to  him.  He  was  not  left  long  in  doubt,  for  Mr. 
Hilliston  entered  into  conversation  as  soon  as  the 
glasses  were  filled  and  the  cigars  lighted.  This  was 
the  moment  for  which  he  had  longed  for  the  whole 
evening. 

"Why  isn't  your  friend  Tait  here  to-night?"  he 
asked,  in  a  casual  tone,  feigning  a  lightness  he  did  not 
feel. 

"Did  not  Mr.  Linton  tell  you?"  replied  Claude, 
prepared  for  this  query.  "  He  had  to  go  to  town  on 
business." 

"On  business,"  murmured  Hilliston  uneasily;  "any- 
thing to  do  with  this  case  you  have  taken  up  ?" 

"  I  can't  say.  Tait  did  not  particularly  state  his 
errand." 

The  lawyer  sipped  his  wine,  looked  thoughtfully  at 
the  end  of  the  cigar,  and  pondered  for  a  few  minutes. 
He  wished  to  speak  of  Claude's  changed  behavior 
toward  himself,  yet  did  not  know  how  to  begin.  At 
length  he  bluntly  blurted  out  a  question,  straightfor- 
ward and  to  the  point.  This  was  undiplomatic,  but 
at  times  human  nature  is  too  strong  for  training. 

"We  are  not  such  good  friends  as  of  yore,  Claude. 
How  is  that  ?  " 

"  I  think  you  can  guess  the  reason,"  replied  Larcher, 
not  ill  pleased  to  fight  out  the  point,  for  he  hated 
being  forced  into  doubtful  civility.  "It  is  this  case 
which  has  come  between  us.  I  do  not  think  you  are 
giving  me  what  help  you  ought  to,  Mr.  Hilliston." 


244  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

"I  can  give  you  no  help,"  said  the  lawyer,  drawing 
his  heavy  brows  together.  "You  know  as  much  as  I 
do.     No  doubt  your  meddlesome  friend  knows  more." 

"It  is  not  improbable.  But  you  can  prove  your 
honesty  in  the  matter  by  doing  me  a  favor." 

"  My  honesty,  sir,  has  never  been  called  into  ques- 
tion yet,"  said  Hilliston,  injudiciously  losing  his  temper, 
always  a  prelude  to  defeat.  "And  I  have  no  call  to 
defend  myself  to  one  to  whom  I  have  been  a  father. 
Still  I  am  willing  to  grant  you  what  you  wish,  in 
reason.'-' 

"Very  good!     Then  introduce  me  to  Mr.  Paynton." 

"I'm  afraid  that  is  out  of  my  power,"  replied  Hillis- 
ton, shaking  his  head.  "You  know  the  man's  ways, 
I  think.  He  is  a  hermit,  a  misanthrope,  and  does 
not  care  for  company.  Why  do  you  wish  to  know 
him?" 

"  For  various  reasons,"  answered  Larcher,  coloring 
with  some  embarrassment.  He  was  by  no  means  will- 
ing to  take  Mr.  Hilliston  into  his  confidence. 

His  old  guardian  looked  at  him  shrewdly,  and, 
remembering  certain  small  circumstances  connected 
with  Jenny,  guessed,  with  the  skill  of  an  experienced 
character  reader,  how  the  land  lay.  At  once  he 
formed  a  resolution  to  further  Claude's  interests  in 
the  matter,  hoping,  and  not  unjustly,  that  should  the 
lad  be  taken  in  the  toils  of  love,  he  might  stop  further 
investigation  of  the  case,  an  end  which  Hilliston 
much    desired    to    gain. 

"Oh!"  said  he  not  unkindly,  "sits  the  wind  in 
that  quarter  ?  Well,  I  will  aid  you.  In  a  few  days 
I  will  try  and  induce  Mr.  Paynton  to  see  you,  and 
then  perhaps  you  may  succeed." 


AN  EVENING  AT   THE    VICARAGE.  245 

"Succeed  in  what?"  demanded  Claude  sharply, 
hardly    relishing   this    perspicuity. 

''Why,  in  this  love-suit  of  yours.  Aye,  aye,  Claude, 
I  can  see  what  you  aim  at,  old  as  I  am.  Well,  she 
is  a  pretty  girl,  clever  and  worthy.  I  know  of  no 
woman  who  would  make  you  a  better  wife.  You  have 
my  best  wishes  for  your  success." 

''  And  you  will  introduce  me  to  her  father? " 

"I'll  try  to,  but  I  won't  promise  confidently. 
Paynton  is  a  strange  creature  and  may  refuse  to 
see  you.  By  the  way,"  added  Hilliston,  as  though 
struck  with  a  sudden  thought,  "what  was  my  wife 
saying   to    you    at   the    door?" 

"She  was  requesting  me  to  speak  to  her  in  the 
drawing  room.  There  is  nothing  wrong,  I  hope  ? 
She   does   not    look    well." 

"Oh,  nothing  wrong,  nothing  wrong!"  replied 
Hilliston  easily,  rising  to  his  feet  as  the  vicar 
moved  toward  the  door.  "  She  is  fond  of  you,  my 
dear  boy,  and   is  anxious  about  the  case." 

"Anxious  about  the  case,"  thought  Larcher,  as  he 
followed  his  host  into  the  drawing  room;  "that  is 
strange.  She  can  have  no  interest  in  it.  H'm!  I'll 
try  the  effect  of  Tait's  destination  on  her.  He  said 
I  would  be  astonished  at  the  result.  I  am  beginning 
to  be  so  already." 

Perhaps  Jenny  had  overheard  the  whisper  in  the 
dining  room,  and  was  sufficiently  taken  with  Larcher 
to  be  jealous  of  his  attentions  to  Mrs.  Hilliston,  old 
though  she  deemed  her,  for,  before  he  could  cross  over 
to  where  the  lawyer's  wife  was  seated,  Jenny  beckoned 
to  him  with  her  imperious  finger.  He  could  do  nothing 
but   obey,    despite    the    frown    which   darkened    Mrs. 


246  THE    THIRD    VOLU'ME. 

Hilliston's  face,  as  she  saw,  and,  with  womanly 
instinct,    guessed    the    maneuver. 

"  Come  and  sit  down  here,"  whispered  Jenny,  under 
cover  of  the  music,  for  Miss  Densham  was  at  the 
piano.      ''  I  have  not  seen  you  for  several  days." 

''  That  is  not  my  fault,"  said  Claude,  delighted  at  the 
interest  thus  displayed;  ''you  stay  so  much  indoors. 
I  have  been  looking  for  you  everywhere." 

"Have  you,  indeed,  Mr.  Larcher  ? "  said  Jenny, 
with  feigned  surprise.      ''And  why,  may  I  ask?" 

"Oh,  for  no  particular  purpose,  unless,  indeed,  it 
was  to  ask  you  for  further  information  concerning  the 

novel." 

"  Hush.  Not  a  word  of  that.  I  can't  speak  of  it  to 
you.  I  know  who  you  are,  Mr.  Larcher,  but  I  am 
ignorant  of  the  tragedy  save  what  I  told  to  Frank,  and 
later  on  to  Mr.  Tait." 

"  But  you  can  guess " 

"I  can  guess  nothing,"  interrupted  the  girl  imperi- 
ously. "  If  you  and  I  are  to  remain  friends  you  must 
cease  talking  on  that  subject." 

"  I'll  do  anything  to  remain  friends  with  you,  Miss 
Paynton,"  was  the  significant  reply. 

"Then  talk  of  anything  save  that  terrible  case.  Oh, 
how  I  wish  I  had  left  it  alone!  " 

"  I'm  glad  you  did  not,"  said  Claude  bluntly.  "If 
it  had  not  been  for  that  book " 

Before  he  could  finish  the  sentence  Jenny  shot  an 
indignant  look  at  him,  and  deliberately  rising  from  her 
seat  crossed  the  room  to  where  Frank  Linton  was 
frowning  and  tugging  at  his  mustache.  Claude  was 
vexed  at  his  folly  in  thus  drawing  down  her  anger  on 
him,  but  accepted  his  beating  like  a  man,  and  passed 


AT  EVENING  AT    THE    VICARAGE.  247 

over  to  where  Mrs.  Hilliston  waited  with  an  expectant 
face.  She  remarked  on  his  tardy  coming  with  some 
bitterness. 

"  I  see  you  prefer  a  younger  face  to  mine,"  she  said, 
drawing  herself  up.  **  Time  was  when  I  had  no  rival 
to  fear." 

"Dear  Mrs.  Hilliston,  I  could  not  disobey  a  lady. 
Besides — besides " 

"  Besides  you  are  in  love  with  her.  Oh,  I  can  see 
that!  Well,  she  is  a  pretty  girl.  So  you  intend  to 
marry  her  ?  " 

"It  is  early  yet  to  talk  of  marriage.  I  don't  even 
know  if  she  likes  me." 

Mrs.  Hilliston  laughed,  and  looked  at  him  smilingly. 
"  Then  you  must  be  very  ignorant  of  the  way  of  women, 
my  dear,"  she  said  meaningly.  "A  word  in  your  ear, 
Claude.     That  girl  loves  you." 

"In  two  weeks!     Impossible!" 

"  I've  known  love  to  grow  in  two  days,"  replied  Mrs. 
Hilliston  dryly.  "Oh,  yes,  she  loves  you,  and  you 
love  her,  so  you  can  marry  as  soon  as  you  choose." 

"  First  I  must  get  Mr.  Paynton's  consent." 

"I  should  not  think  that  would  be  difficult,"  said 
the  lady,  looking  at  his  eager  face.  "You  are  young, 
not  ill-looking,  not  badly  off,  and  so  I  should  not  think 
Mr.  Paynton  would  desire  anything  better  for  his 
daughter.  So  much  for  the  first  obstacle,  and  the 
second  ? " 

"  I  must  solve  the  mystery  of  my  father's  death." 

Mrs.  Hilliston's  manner  changed  on  the  instant,  and 
from  being  gay  she  became  severe  and  anxious-looking. 
Indeed,  Claude  thought  that  she  paled  under  her 
rouge  ;    but   this    might   have   been    fancy. 


248  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

*'It  is  about  that  I  wish  to  speak  to  you,"  she  said 
hurriedly.  "I  want  you  to  stop  investigating  this 
case.  You  will  learn  nothing;  it  would  be  of  no  use 
to  anyone  if  you  did  solve  the  mystery.  Stop  troubling 
yourself  with  slander,  Claude." 

"  Why  ? "  he  asked,  astonished  at  her  earnest  tone. 

"Because  your  conduct  vexes  my  husband.  He  has 
been  a  father  to  you  in  the  place  of  the  one  you  lost, 
so  you  ought  to  consider  him  a  little.  Pray  leave  that 
mystery  unsolved." 

"If  I  would,  Tait  would  not.  He  is  now  even  more 
eager  than  I  to  find  out  the  truth." 

"Horrid  little  man!"  said  the  lady  viciously. 
"Where    is    he    now?" 

The  time  had  now  come  to  try  the  effect  of  Tait's 
destination,  and  fixing  his  eyes  on  Mrs.  Hilliston  as  she 
slowly  fanned  herself,  Claude  uttered  the  fatal  words. 

"  He  is  at  Horriston. " 

The  fan  stopped,  Mrs.  Hilliston  paled,  but,  pre- 
serving her  self-control  with  a  strong  effort,  replied 
quietly: 

"  At  Horriston.     And  why  ?  " 

"  To  find  out  a  person  not  mentioned  in  the  case. " 

"  Man  or  woman  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Hilliston  in  a  low 
voice. 

"Woman." 

She  said  no  more,  but  turned  away  her  head  to  reply 
to  her  husband,  who  came  up  opportunely.  He  also 
had  heard  the  last  few  words  of  the  conversation,  and, 
ignoring  the  presence  of  Claude,  husband  and  wife 
looked   at  one  another  with   pale   faces. 

The  shot  had  struck  home,  and  Larcher  saw  that  it 
had. 


CHAPTER   XXXII. 

THE    DISCOVERIES    OF    SPENSER    TAIT. 

HoRRiSTON  might  fitly  be  compared  to  Jonah's 
gourd;  it  sprang  up  in  a  night,  so  to  speak,  and 
withered  in  the  space  of  a  day.  In  the  earlier  part  of 
the  Victorian  era  a  celebrated  doctor  recommended  its 
mineral  springs,  and  invalids  flocked  to  be  cured  at 
this  new  pool  of  Bethesda.  Whether  the  cures  were 
not  genuine,  or  insufficiently  rapid  to  please  the  sick 
folk,  it  is  hard  to  say,  but  after  fifteen  or  twenty  years 
of  prosperity  the  crowd  of  fashionable  valetudinarians 
ceased  to  occupy  the  commodious  lodging  houses  and 
hotels  in  Horriston.  Other  places  sprang  up  with 
greater  attractions  and  more  certain  cures,  so  the  erst- 
while fashionable  town  relapsed  into  its  provincial  dull- 
ness. No  one  lived  there  but  a  few  retired  army  men, 
and  no  one  came  save  a  stray  neurotic  person  in  search 
of  absolute  quiet.  Few  failed  to  get  that  at  Horriston, 
which  was  now  as  sleepy  a  place  as  could  be  found  in 
all  England.  Even  Thorston  was  more  in  touch  with 
the  nineteenth  century  than  this  deserted  town. 

As  Tait  drove  through  the  streets  on  his  way  to  the 
principal  hotel,  he  could  not  help  noticing  the  dreary 
look  of  the  chief  thoroughfare.  Many  of  the  shops 
were  closed,  some  were  unoccupied,  and  those  still 
open  displayed  wares  grimy  and  flyblown.  The  shop- 
keepers came  to  their  doors  in  a  dazed  fashion  to  look 

249 


250  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

at  the  new  visitor,  in  the  single  fly  which  plied  between 
station  and  hotel,  thereby  showing  that  the  event  was 
one  of  rare  occurrence.  There  were  no  vehicles  in 
the  street  itself  save  a  lumbering  cart  containing 
market  produce,  and  the  doctor's  trap  which  stood  at 
the  doctor's  door.  A  few  people  sauntered  along  the 
pavement  in  a  Hstless  fashion,  and  the  whole  aspect  of 
the  place  was  one  of  decay  and  desertion.  But  for  the 
presence  of  shopkeepers  and  pedestrians,  few  though 
they  were,  Tait  could  almost  have  imagined  himself 
in  some  deserted  mining  township  on  the  Californian 
coast. 

The  principal  hotel  faced  one  side  of  a  melancholy 
square,  and  was  called  "The  Royal  Victoria,"  out  of 
compliment  to  the  reigning  monarch.  It  was  a  large 
barrack,  with  staring  windows,  and  a  flight  of  white 
steps  leading  up  to  a  deserted  hall.  No  busy  waiters, 
no  genial  landlord  or  buxom  barmaid,  not  even  the 
sound  of  cheerful  voices.  Cats  slept  on  the  steps  and 
fowls  clucked  in  the  square,  while  a  melancholy  waiter, 
peering  out  of  the  window,  put  the  finishing  touch  to 
the  lamentable  dreariness  of  the  scene.  The  sign 
"  Royal  Victoria  "  should  have  been  removed  out  of 
very  shame,  and  the  word  "  Ichabod  "  written  up  in 
its  place.  The  landlord  was  lacking  in  humor  to  let 
things  remain  as  they  were. 

However,  Tait,  being  hungry  and  dusty  and  tired, 
consoled  himself  with  the  reflection  that  it  was  at  all 
events  an  hotel,  and  speedily  found  himself  the  sole 
occupant  of  the  dining  room,  attended  to  by  the 
melancholy  waiter.  The  viands  provided  were  by  no 
means  bad,  and  the  wine  was  undeniably  good;  and 
small  wonder,  seeing  it  had  been  in   the  cellars  for  a 


THE   DISCOVERIES  OF  SPENSER    TAIT.        251 

quarter  of  a  century  for  want  of  someone  to  drink 
it.  This  fact  was  confided  to  Tait  by  his  sad  Gany- 
mede. 

*' We  used  to  see  a  sight  of  company  here,"  said 
this  elderly  person  when  he  appeared  with  the  claret, 
"  but,  bless  you,  it's  like  Babylon  the  fallen  now,  sir. 
You're  the  first  gentleman  as  I  have  seen  here  for  a 
week." 

"Shouldn't  think  it  would  pay  to  keep  the  hotel 
open." 

''It  don't,  sir,"  replied  the  waiter  with  conviction, 
'*  but  master  is  well  off — made  his  money  in  the  days 
when  Horriston  was  Horriston,  and  keeps  this  place 
as  a  sort  of  hobby.  We  have  a  club  here  in  the  even- 
ings, sir,  and  that  makes  things  a  bit  lively." 

"  Have  you  been  here  long  ?  "  asked  Tait,  noticing 
how  gray  and  wrinkled  was  this  despondent  servitor. 

''Over  thirty  years,  sir,"  responded  Ganymede, 
with  a  sigh  as  though  the  memory  was  too  much  for 
him;   "  man  and  boy  I've  been  here  thirty  years." 

"  I'm  glad  of  that.  You're  the  man  I  want.  Got 
a  good  memory  ?" 

"Pretty  good,  sir.  Not  that  there's  much  to 
remember,"  and  he  sighed  again. 

"H'm.  Have  you  any  recollection  of  a  murder 
which  took  place  at  The  Laurels  twenty-five  years 
ago?" 

"That  I  have,  sir,"  said  the  waiter,  with  faint  ani- 
mation, "  it  was  the  talk  of  the  country.  Captain 
Larcher,  wasn't  it,  sir,  and  his  wife,  a  sweetly  pretty 
woman  ?  She  was  accused  of  the  murder,  I  think;  but 
she  didn't  do  it.  No,  nor  Mr.  Jeringham  either, 
though  some  people  think  he  did,  'cause  he  cleared  out. 


252  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

And  small  blame  to  him  when  they   were  after  him 
like   roaring   lions." 

*'  Do  you  remember  Jeringham  ?  " 

''  I  should  think  so,  sir.  Why  he  stopped  in  this 
very  hotel,  he  did.  As  kind  and  affable  a  gentleman 
as  I  ever  met,  sir.  He  kill  Captain  Larcher  ?  Not  he! 
no  more  than  did  the  wife,  poor  thing  !  Now  I  have 
my  own  opinion,"  said  this  wise  person  significantly, 
*'  but  I  didn't  take  to  it  for  five  years  after  the  murder. 
As  you  might  say  twenty  years  ago,  sir." 

"  Who  do  you  think  committed  the  crime,  then  ?  " 
asked  Tait,  rather  impressed  by  the  man's  manner. 

The  waiter  looked  around,  with  the  enjoyable  air  of 
a  man  about  to  impart  a  piece  of  startling  information, 
and  bent  across  the  table  to  communicate  it  to  Tait. 
"Denis  Bantry  was  the  man,  sir,"  he  said  solemnly; 
'■'■  Captain  Larcher's  valet." 

"  Nonsense!     What  makes  you  think  that  ?  " 

"I  don't  think  it,  sir.  I  know  it.  If  you  don't 
believe  me,  go  to  The  Laurels  and  ask  the  old 
gardener,  Dick  Pental.  He  saw  it,"  finished  the  waiter, 
in  a  tragic  whisper. 

''Saw  what?  The  murder?"  said  Tait,  with  a 
startled  look. 

"  Yes,  sir.  He  saw  the  murder.  I  heard  it  all  from 
him,  I  did;  1  forget  the  exact  story  he  told  me.  But 
Denis  Bantry  should  have  been  hanged,  sir.  Oh,  there 
isn't  the  least  doubt  about  it,  sir." 

"But  if  this  Dick  Pental  saw  the  crime  committed, 
why  didn't  he  come  forward  and  tell  about  it  ?  " 

"Well,  sir,  it  was  this  way,"  said  Ganymede,  dust- 
ing the  table  with  his  napkin,  "  Dick  aint  all  there. 
Not    to    be    too   delicate,    sir,    Dick's   mad.     He    was 


THE  DISCOVERIES  OF  SPENSER    TAIT.        253 

always  a  softy  from  a  bo}^  not  that  he's  old  now,  sir. 
Forty-five,  I  believe,  and  he  was  twenty  years  of  age 
when  he  was  in  Captain  Larcher's  service." 

*' And  is  he  at  The  Laurels  still  ?  " 

<*  Why,  yes,  sir.  You  see,  after  the  murder,  no  one 
would  take  the  house.  They  thought  it  haunted 
maybe,  so  Dick  was  put  in  as  caretaker.  He  looked 
after  it  for  twenty  years,  and  then  it  was  taken  by 
a  gentleman  who  didn't  care  for  murders  or  ghosts. 
He's  there  now,  sir,  and  so  is  Dick,  who  still  looks 
after  the  garden." 

"  But  why  didn't  Dick  relate  what  he  saw  ?  " 

"Because  of  his  softness,  sir,"  said  the  waiter 
deliberately.  ''  You  see  Dick  had  been  put  into  a 
lunatic  asylum,  he  had,  just  before  he  came  of  age. 
Captain  Larcher — a  kind  gentleman,  sir — took  him  out, 
and  made  him  gardener  at  The  Laurels,  so  when  Dick 
saw  the  murder  done,  he  was  afraid  to  speak,  in  case 
he  should  be  locked  up  again.  No  head,  you  see,  sir. 
So  he  held  his  tongue,  he  did,  and  only  told  me  five 
years  after  the  murder.  Then  it  was  too  late,  for  all 
those  who  were  at  The  Laurels  on  that  night  had 
disappeared.  You  don't  happen  to  know  where  Denis 
Bantry  is,  sir,  do  you  ?  For  he  ought  to  hang,  sir; 
indeed   he  ought." 

Tait  did  not  think  it  wise  to  take  this  bloodthirsty 
waiter  into  his  confidence,  but  rewarded  him  with  half 
a  sovereign  for  his  information,  and  retired  to  bed  to 
think  the  matter  over.  He  was  startled  by  this  new 
discovery,  which  seemed  to  indicate  Denis  Bantry, 
alias  Kerry,  as  the  assassin,  and  wondered  if  he  had 
been  wrong  all  through  in  suspecting  Flilliston.  Yet 
if  Kerry  had  committed  the  crime,  Tait  saw  no  reason 


254  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

why  Hilliston  should  protect  him,  as  he  was  evidently 
doing.  Assuming  that  the  waiter  had  spoken  cor- 
rectly, the  only  ground  on  which  Tait  could  explain 
Hilliston's  conduct  was  that  Mrs.  Larcher  was  impli- 
cated with  the  old  servant  in  the  murder.  If  Kerry 
were  arrested  he  might  confess  sufficient  to  entangle 
Mrs.  Larcher;  and  as  Hilliston  loved  the  woman,  a 
fact  of  which  Tait  was  certain,  he  would  not  like  to 
run  so  great  a  risk  to  her  liberty.  But  this  reasoning 
was  upset  by  the  remembrance  that  Mrs.  Larcher  had 
already  been  tried  and.  acquitted  of  the  crime;  and  as 
according  to  law  she  could  not  be  tried  twice  on  the 
same  charge,  she  was  safe  in  any  case.  Tait  was 
bewildered  by  his  own  thoughts.  The  kaleidoscope 
had  shifted  again;  the  combinations  were  different, 
but  the  component  parts  were  the  same;  and  argue  as 
he  might  there  seemed  no  solution  of  the  mystery. 
Mrs.  Larcher,  Denis  Bantry,  his  sister,  Hilliston,  and 
Mark  Jeringham;  who  had  killed  the  unfortunate  hus- 
band ?  Tait  could  find  no  answer  to  this  perplexing 
question. 

In  the  morning  he  walked  to  The  Laurels,  which 
he  had  no  difficulty  in  finding,  owing  to  the  explicit 
directions  of  his  friend  the  waiter.  It  was  a  pretty, 
low-roofed  house  on  a  slight  rise  near  the  river,  and 
built  somewhat  after  the  fashion  of  a  bungalow.  The 
gardens  sloped  to  the  river  bank  on  one  side,  and  on 
the  other  were  sheltered  from  inland  winds  by  a  belt 
of  sycamore  trees;  in  front  a  light  iron  railing  divided 
them  from  the  road,  which  ran  past  the  house  on  its 
way  to  the  ferry.  The  gardens  were  some  three  acres 
in  extent,  very  pretty  and  picturesque,  showing  at 
every  turn  that  whatever  might  be  the  mental  state  of 


THE  DISCOVERIES   OF  SPENSER    TAIT.        255 

Dick  Pental,  he  was  thorough  master  of  his  business. 
Tait  came  into  contact  with  him  in  a  short  space  of 
time  through  the  medium  of  the  housekeeper. 

This  individual  was  a  sour  old  maid,  who  informed 
him  with  some  acerbity  that  Mr.  Deemer,  the  present 
occupant  of  The  Laurels,  was  away  from  home, 
and  without  his  permission  she  could  not  show  him 
the  house.  Perhaps  she  suspected  Tait's  errand,  for 
she  looked  suspiciously  at  him,  and  resolutely  refused 
to  let  him  cross  the  threshold.  However,  as  a  con- 
cession she  said  he  could  inspect  the  grounds,  which 
were  well  worth  seeing;  and  called  Dick  Pental  to 
show  him  round.  As  Tait  had  really  no  great  desire 
to  see  the  interior  of  the  house,  where  he  would  learn 
nothing  likely  to  be  of  service,  and  a  great  desire  to 
speak  alone  with  the  mad  gardener,  he  thankfully 
accepted  the  offer,  and  was  then  thrown  into  the 
company  of  the  very  man  whom  he  most  desired 
to  see. 

Dick  Pental  was  a  slender,  bright-eyed  man,  with 
a  dreamy-looking  face;  alert  in  his  movements,  and 
restless  with  his  hands  and  feet.  He  did  not  seem 
unintelligent;  but  the  germs  of  madness  were  plainly 
discernible,  and  Tait  guessed  that  only  his  constant 
life  in  the  open  air  kept  him  from  returning  to  the 
asylum  whence  he  had  been  taken  by  Captain  Larcher. 
With  justifiable  pride  this  queer  creature  showed  Tait 
over  the  grounds,  but  never  by  word  or  deed  did  he 
hint  at  the  story  which  he  had  told  the  waiter.  Still 
hopeful,  Tait  led  the  conversation  on  that  direction, 
and  finally  succeeded  in  touching  the  spring  in  the 
man's  brain  which  made  him  relate  the  whole  matter. 
The   opportunity  occurred  when   the  two  men  were 


256  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

Standing  on  a  slight  rise  overlooking  the  river.  Here 
Tait  made  a  remark  concerning  the  view. 

"What  a  peaceful  scene,"  he  said,  waving  his  stick 
toward  the  prospect.  '*  Corn  lands,  farmhouses,  the 
square-towered  church,  and  the  ferry  crossing  the 
placid  river.  I  can  imagine  nothing  more  homely,  or 
so  charged  with  pleasant  memories.  Here  all  is  peace 
and  quiet,  no  trouble,  no  danger,  no  crimes." 

Dick  thoughtfully  rubbed  the  half  crown  given  him 
by  Tait,  and  looked  dreamily  at  river  and  sky  and 
opposite  shore.  To  his  abnormally  active  brain  the 
scene  looked  different  to  what  it  did  to  this  stranger; 
and  he  could  not  forbear  alluding  to  the  fact.  More- 
over, the  gentleman  had  given  him  money,  and  Dick 
was  greedy,  so  in  the  expectation  of  extracting  another 
coin,  he  hinted  that  he  could  tell  a  startling  story 
about  this  very  place. 

"Aint  you  fond  of  murders,  sir?''  he  asked 
abruptly,  turning  his  bright  eyes  on  Tait. 

"No,  I  don't  think  I  am,"  replied  the  other, 
delighted  to  think  he  had  succeeded  in  rousing  the 
man's  dormant  intelligence.  "Why  do  you  ask? 
Murder  is  an  ugly  word,  and  can  have  nothing  to  do 
with  so  peaceful  a  scene  as  this." 

"That's  all  you  know,  sir,"  said  Dick  eagerly. 
"Why,  I  could  tell  you  of  a  murder  as  I  seed  myself 
in  this  very  spot  where  we  are  now — or  only  a  few 
yards  from  it,  sir." 

Tait  glanced  at  his  watch  with  an  affectation  of 
hurry,  and  shook  his  head.  "I  am  afraid  1  can't 
wait,"  he  said  artfully.  "  I  must  return  to  Horriston 
in  a  few  minutes." 

"It  won't  take  longer  nor  that  to  tell.     Why,  I've 


THE  DISCOVERIES  OF  SPENSER    TAIT.        257 

told  it  in  ten  minutes,  I  have.  It's  freezer  to  the 
blood.  A  murder  at  night,  too,"  added  Dick,  in  an 
agony  lest  Tait  should  go  away,  "with  a  lantern  and 
a  corpse — just  like  you  read  in  novels." 

"Hm!"  observed  Tait  skeptically,  not  yet  being 
sure  of  the  man.      "Is  it  true  ?  " 

"True  as  gospel,  sir.  I  wouldn't  tell  a  lie,  I 
wouldn't.  I've  been  brought  up  Methody,  you  know, 
sir,  and  scorn  a  falsehood  as  a  snare  of  the  Old  'Un. 
You  make  it  worth  Dicky's  while,  sir,  and  he'll  give 
you  goose  flesh.     Oh,  that  he  will." 

"Very  good,"  said  Tait,  throwing  himself  on  the 
sward.  "I  don't  mind  hearing  the  legend  of  this 
place.  If  it  is  as  good  as  you  say  I'll  give  you  half  a 
sovereign." 

"In  gold  ?  "  asked  Dick,  with  a  grasping  eagerness. 
"In  bright  gold.     See!  here  is  the  half  sovereign. 
You  tell  the  story  and  it  is  yours.     Now,  then,  what  is 
it  all  about  ?  " 

Dick  Pental  sat  down  beside  Tait,  but  at  some  dis- 
tance away,  and  chuckled  as  he  rubbed  his  hands.  He 
had  a  chance  of  making  twelve-and-sixpence  that 
morning,  and  was  overjoyed  at  his  good  fortune. 
Resolved  to  begin  with  a  startling  remark,  he  glanced 
down  to  see  that  they  were  alone,  and  then  brought  it 
out. 

"I  could  hang  a  man,  I  could,"  he  said  cheerfully. 
"  I  could  hang  him  till  he  was  a  deader." 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

THE    STORY    OF    THE    MAD    GARDENER. 

Having  made  this  startling  announcement,  Dick 
Pental  drew  back  to  observe  the  effect  on  his  hearer. 
Humoring  the  man's  vanity,  Tait  expressed  due  sur- 
prise, and  requested  him  to  narrate  the  circumstance 
to  which  he  referred. 

"  It  is  about  twenty-five  years  ago,  it  is,"  said  Dick, 
commencing  his  tale  in  a  great  hurry;  "  and  I  was  the 
gardener  here  to  Captain  Larcher.  You  don't  know 
him,  sir;  it  aint  to  be  expected  as  you  should.  He 
was  a  grown  gentleman  before  you  were,  and  a  kind 
'un  he  was;  took  me  out  of  the  asylum,  he  did. 
They  said  I  was  mad,  you  know,  and  put  me  into  a 
strait  waistcoat;  but  I  wasn't  a  bit  wrong  in  my  head, 
sir,  not  I.  Captain  Larcher  he  saw  that,  so  he  took  me 
out  and  made  me  his  gardener.  And  aint  I  done  a  lot 
for  the  place  ?  just  you  look  round  and  see." 

*'  Your  work  is  admirable,  Dick." 

*'It  is  that,"  replied  the  man  with  naive  vanity, 
"and  you  aint  the  first  as  has  said  that,  sir.  Oh,  I'm 
fond  of  the  garden,  I  am;  flowers  are  much  nicer  com- 
pany than  human  beings,  I  think.  Not  so  cross  with 
Dicky,  you  know,  sir." 

*'  No  doubt,"  said  Tait,  seeing  that  the  creature  was 
following   the   wanderings    of   his    poor   wits.      "But 

about    this   murder   you " 

258 


THE   STORY  OF    THE   MAD   GARDENER.         259 

"I  didn't  know   anything  was  wrong,"  interrupted 
the  gardener  earnestly;    "  I'd  have  kept  out  of  the  way 
if  I'd  known  that;  but  I  came  here  one  night  when  I 
shouldn't  have  been  here." 
'<  How  was  that  ?  " 

"Hot  rum  and  water,"  confessed  Dick,  with  great 
simplicity.  "  I  drank  it — too  much  of  it,  and  it  went 
to  my  head.  It  isn't  a  strong  head,  so  I  came  here  to 
sleep  it  clear  again.  That  was  about  twelve  o'clock 
as  near  as  I  can  tell,  but.  Lord  bless  you,  my  head 
made  no  account  of  time,  when  the  hot  rum  and  water 
was  in  it.  I  woke  up  and  I  was  frightened  finding  my- 
self in  the  dark, — I  hate  the  dark,  don't  you,  sir  ? — so 
I  finished  some  rum  that  I  had  with  me  and  went 
to  sleep  again.  Then  I  woke  up  sudden,  I  did,  and  I 
saw  it." 

"The  murder  being  committed  ?  " 

"  No,  not  quite  that !  But  I  saw  a  man  lying  on 
the  ground  just  over  there,  and  he  didn't  move  a  bit. 
Another  man  was  holding  him  in  his  arms,  and  Denis 
Bantry  was  standing  by  with  a  lantern." 

"  Who  was  the  other  man  ?  " 

"It  was  a  gentleman  called  Mr.  Jeringham.  Oh, 
yes  !  My  head  was  queer,  but  I  knew  him  by  his 
clothes,  I  did.  I  was  at  the  grand  ball  of  the  gentry, 
you  know;  it  was  there  I  got  drunk — and  I  saw  Mr. 
Jeringham  there  in  black  clothes  with  gold  trimmings. 
He  had  them  on  when  he  bent  over  Captain  Larcher." 

"How  did  you  know  the  man  on  the  ground  was 
Captain  Larcher  ? " 

"  I  didn't,  then,"  confessed  Dick  ingenuously;  "  but 
when  I  heard  as  they  found  him  in  the  river,  I  knew  it 
was  him,  I  did.     I  saw  them  drop  hhn  in!  " 


26o  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

"Denis  Bantry  and  Mr.  Jeringham?"  exclaimed 
Tait,  astonished  at  the  minuteness  of  these  details. 

"  Yes.  They  talked  together  for  a  bit,  but  my  head 
was  so  queer  that  I  couldn't  make  out  what  they  said. 
But  they  picked  up  Captain  Larcher,  one  at  the  head 
and  the  other  at  the  heels,  and  they  dropped  him  in — 
Splash!  he  went,  he  did.  I  was  behind  a  tree  and  they 
couldn't  see  me.  Ugh!  "  said  the  man,  with  a  shiver, 
"how  I  did  feel  afraid  when  he  went  splash  into  the 
cold  water.     Then  I  went  away  and  held  my  tongue." 

"  Why  did  you  do  that  ?  It  was  your  duty  to  have 
come  forward  and  told  the  truth." 

Dick  Pental  put  on  a  cunning  look,  and  shook  his 
head.  "  Not  me,  sir,"  he  said  artfully.  "They'dhave 
said  my  head  was  queer  and  put  me  in  an  asylum  again. 
No,  no,  Dicky  was  too  clever  for  them,  he  was." 

"But  you  say  it  was  Denis  Bantry  who  killed  Cap- 
tain Larcher,"  said  Tait,  after  a  moment's  reflection. 
"How  do  you  know  that,  when  you  did  not  see  the 
blow  struck?     It  might  have  been  Mr.  Jeringham." 

Looking  lovingly  at  the  piece  of  gold  which  was  now 
in  his  possession,  Dick  shook  his  head  with  great  vigor. 

"  It  wasn't  Mr.  Jeringham,"  he  protested.  "He  was 
a  good,  kind  gentleman.  He  gave  Dicky  half  a  crown 
the  day  before.  He  was  fond  of  Captain  Larcher's 
wife,  so  he  couldn't  have  killed  Captain  Larcher." 

Against  this  insane  reasoning  Tait  had  nothing  to 
urge,  as  Dicky  was  evidently  convinced  that  Denis 
Bantry  was  guilty,  to  the  exclusion  of  Jeringham. 
Had  the  former  given  him  money  instead  of  the  latter 
he  would  doubtless  have  accused  Jeringham  and  sworn 
to  the  innocence  of  Denis.  The  man's  brain  was  too 
weak  to  be  depended  upon;  but  Tait  recognized  that 


THE    STORY   OF    THE   MAD    GARDENER.         261 

the  report  he  gave  of  the  occurrence  of  that  fatal  night 
was  true  and  faithful  in  all  respects.  Dicky  was  not 
sufficiently  imaginative  to  invent  such  a  story. 

Satisfied  from  the  importance  of  the  knowledge  he 
had  gained  that  his  time  had  not  been  wasted,  Tait 
wished  to  be  alone  to  think  out  the  matter.  There 
was  some  difficulty  in  getting  rid  of  Dicky,  who  was 
still  greedily  expectant  of  further  tips,  but  in  the  end 
he  induced  the  man  to  return  to  his  work,  and  set  out 
for  Horriston  at  a  brisk  walk.  He  always  thought 
better  when  exercising  his  limbs,  and  before  he  reached 
the  town  he  had  arrived  at  several  conclusions  respect- 
ing the  case  as  seen  under  the  new  light  thrown  on  it 
by  the  gardener. 

For  one  thing,  he  concluded  that  Paynton  was  Jer- 
ingham.  The  reason  for  Denis  being  in  his  service 
had  been  explained  by  Dick  Pental,  as  the  two  men 
were  bound  together  by  a  common  bond  of  guilt. 
Tait  was  inclined  to  think  that  Jeringham  was  inno- 
cent, for  if  he  had  killed  Larcher  there  would  have 
been  no  need  for  Denis  to  have  screened  him.  On  the 
other  hand,  circumstantial  evidence  was  so  strong 
against  Jeringham  that,  if  Denis  had  struck  the  blow, 
he  would  be  forced  to  acquiesce  in  the  silence  of  the 
real  criminal — to  become,  as  it  were,  an  accessory  to 
the  crime.  Denis  could  have  sworn  that  Jeringham 
was  guilty,  and  so  placed  him  in  danger  of  his  Hfe. 
Thus  the  two  men  had  a  hold  on  one  another;  Jering- 
ham because  circumstances  were  against  .him,  Denis 
because  he  had  killed  Larcher.  The  motive  for  the 
crime  was  not  difficult  to  discover  after  the  story  told 
by  Mrs.  Bezel.  Bantry  had  killed  his  master  as  the 
destroyer  of  his  sister's  honor.      Under  the  names  of 


262  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

Payiiton  and  Kerry  the  two  men  were  dwelling  together 
at  Thorston  in  loathed  companionship,  each  afraid  to 
let  the  other  out  of  his  sight.  Tait  could  imagine  no 
more  terrible  punishment  than  that  enforced  comrade- 
ship. It  reminded  him  of  a  similar  situation  in  a  novel 
of  Zola's,  where  husband  and  wife  were  equally  cul- 
pable, equally  afraid,  and  filled  with  equal  hatred  the 
one  toward  the  other. 

Still  this  conclusion,  supported  as  it  was  by  facts, 
did  not  explain  the  attitude  of  Hilliston.  Assuming 
the  guilt  of  Denis  Bantry,  the  complicity  of  Jering- 
ham,  there  appeared  to  be  no  reason  why  Hilliston 
should  protect  them  at  Thorston,  and  throw  obstacles 
in  the  way  of  the  truth's  discovery.  Tait  was  com- 
pletely nonplussed  and  could  think  of  no  explanation. 
And  then  he  remembered  Mrs.  Bezel's  letter,  and  the 
mention  of  Louisa  Sinclair.  Hilliston,  according  to 
Mrs.  Bezel,  knew  this  woman,  and  she  knew  who  had 
committed  the  crime.  But  how  could  she  know  unless 
she  had  been  concealed,  like  Dick  Pental,  in  the  garden 
on  that  night  ?  Tait  was  quite  certain  that  Denis 
Bantry  was  guilty,  but  the  hint  of  Mrs.  Bezel  threat- 
ened to  disturb  this  view;  and  yet  what  better  evi- 
dence was  obtainable  than  that  of  an  eye-witness. 
Still  Tait  remembered  that  Dicky  confessed  he  had 
not  seen  the  blow  struck.  What  if  Louisa  Sinclair 
had  ?     That  was  the  question  he  asked  himself. 

Under  the  circumstances  it  was  necessary  to  find 
out  who  this  woman  was.  Tait  did  not  judge  it  wise 
to  ask  Hilliston,  for  the  simple  reason  that  the  lawyer 
would  not  admit  the  truth.  There  was  no  obvious 
reason  why  he  should  not,  but  Tait  had  suificient  ex- 
perience of  Hilliston's  trickery  and  evasion  in  the  past 


THE   STORY  OF    THE   MAD   GARDENER.         263 

to  know  that  his  admissions  were  untrustworthy. 
There  only  remained  for  liim  to  search  for  Louisa 
Sinclair  in  Horriston,  question  her  if  she  were  alive,  or 
learn  all  that  he  could  if  she  were  dead. 

And  now  occurred  a  coincidence  which  unwittingly 
put  Tait  on  the  right  track.  When  within  half  a  mile 
of  Horriston  he  met  a  clergyman  swinging  along  at  a 
good  pace,  and  in  him  recognized  a  former  college 
companion.  The  recognition  and  the  delight  were 
mutual. 

"  My  dear  Brandon,  this  is  indeed  a  surprise!  "  ex- 
claimed  Tait,  holding  out  his  hand.  "  I  had  no  idea 
that  you  were   in  these  parts." 

"I  have  only  been  vicar  here  for  a  year,"  answered 
Brandon  cordially;  "but  what  are  you  doing  at  Hor- 
riston, my  friend  ? " 

"Oh,  I  have  come  down  partly  on  business  and 
partly  on  pleasure." 

"Then  dismiss  business  for  the  moment,  and  come 
to  luncheon  with  me.  I  am  just  going  to  my  house. 
Where  are  you  staying?" 

"At  the  Royal  Victoria." 

"A  dismal  place.  You  must  come  frequently  to 
see  us  while  you  stay  here,  and  we  will  do  what  we  can 
to  cheer  you  up.  Mrs.  Brandon  will  be  delighted  to 
see  you." 

"  Oh!     So  you  are  married  ? " 

"  For  the  last  five  years.  Two  children.  Well,  I 
am  glad  to  see  you  again.     Do  you  stay  here  long? " 

"A  few  days  only,"  replied  Tait  carelessly;  "but  it 
entirely  depends  on  my  business." 

"  Anything  important  ?  " 

"Yes  and  no.     By  the  way,  you  may  be  able  to  help 


264  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

me,  Brandon.  Do  you  know  anyone  in  this  parish 
called    Miss  Louisa  Sinclair?" 

The  vicar  reflected  for  a  few  moments,  and  shook 
his  head.  "No,  I  never  heard  the  name.  She  must 
have  been  here  before  my  time.  Have  you  any  reason 
for  wanting  to  see  her  ?  " 

"  Naturally,  or  I  should  not  have  asked,"  said  Tait, 
with  faint  sarcasm.  "However,  I  must  make  a 
confidant  of  you,  as  I  wish  for  your  advice  and 
assistance." 

"I  shall  be  delighted  to  give  both,"  said  his  friend 
briskly.  "  But  here  we  are  at  my  house,  and  there  is 
my  wife  in  the  porch.  My  dear,  this  is  an  old  college 
friend  of  mine,  Spenser  Tait.  We  must  make  him 
welcome,  for  the  days  that  have  been." 

Mrs.  Brandon,  a  comfortable,  rosy-cheeked  matron, 
with  two  tiny  Brandons  clinging  to  her  skirts,  heartily 
welcomed  Tait,  and  led  the  way  to  the  dining  room. 
Here  an  extra  knife  and  fork  were  hastily  produced  for 
the  guest,  and  they  all  sat  down  to  luncheon  in  the 
best  of  spirits.  For  the  moment  Tait  banished  all 
thought  of  the  case  from  his  mind,  and  laid  himself  out 
to  be  agreeable  to  the  vicar's  wife.  In  this  he  suc- 
ceeded, as  she  subsequently  pronounced  him  to  be 
a  singularly  charming  man;  while  he  pronounced  her 
to  be  one  of  the  most  intelligent  women  it  had  been 
his  fortune  to  meet. 

After  luncheon  Brandon  conducted  Tait  to  his  study, 
and  there,  over  an  excellent  cigar,  the  little  man  related 
the  story  of  the  Larcher  affair  from  the  time  that 
Claude  became  possessed  of  the  papers.  Needless  to 
say  the  clergyman  was  much  astonished  by  the  recital, 
and  agreed  with    Tait  that  it   was   difficult    to  know 


THE   STORY  OF   THE  MAD   GARDENER.         265 

• 

which  way  to  turn  in  the  present  dilemma.  He 
thought  that  .Denis  was  guilty  and  Jeringham  an 
accomplice  by  force  of  circumstances;  but  doubted 
whether  the  existence  of  Louisa  Sinclair  might  not 
altogether  alter  the  complexion  of  the  case. 

"  Of  course,  the  difficulty  will  be  to  find  Louisa 
Sinclair, "  he  said  thoughtfully ;  ' '  five-and-twenty  years 
is  a  long  time  to  go  back  to.     She  may  be  dead." 

"  So  she  may,"  rejoined  Tait  a  trifle  tartly;  ''on  the 
other  hand  she  may  be  alive.  I  found  that  waiter  and 
that  gardener  who  were  at  Horriston  then.  Both 
remember  the  case,  so  it  is  probable  that  I  shall  find 
this  woman,  or  at  least  gain  sufficient  information  to 
trace  her  whereabouts." 

"  I  cannot  recall  her  name,  Tait.  She  has  not  been 
here  in  my  time.  Fortunately  I  can  help  you  in  this 
much;  that  an  old  parishioner  of  mine  is  calling  to-day, 
and,  as  she  has  lived  here  for  the  last  forty  years  and 
more,  it  is  likely  she  will  remember  if  such  a  person 
dwelt  here. " 

"Who  is  this  old  lady?" 

'*  My  dear  fellow,  you  must  not  call  her  an  old  lady. 
It  is  true  she  is  over  forty,  but — well  she  is  always 
young  and  charming  in  her  own  eyes.  Miss  Belinda 
Pike  is  her  name,  and  I  shouldn't  like  to  come  under 
the  lash  of  her  tongue." 

"  Is  she  such  a  Tartar  ? " 

"  She  is My  dear  fellow,  you  must  not  ask  me  to 

talk  scandal  about  my  parishioners;  moreover,  I  see  the 
lady  in  question  is  coming  up  the  garden  path.  Once 
set  her  tongue  going,  and  you  will  learh  all  the  history 
of  Horriston  for  the  last  hundred  years." 

"I  only  want   to    go    back  twenty-five,"   rejoined 


266  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

Tait,  smiling;  and  at  that  moment  Miss  Belinda  Pike 
was  announced. 

She  was  a  tall,  bony  female  with  a  hook  nose,  a  false 
front,  and  an  artificial  smile.  Dressed  in  voluminous 
raiment,  she  bore  down  on  Brandon  like  a  frigate  in 
full  sail;  and  proceeded  to  talk.  All  the  time  she 
remained  in  the  study  she  talked,  of  herself,  of  parish 
work,  of  Dorcas  meetings,  of  scandals  new  and  old; 
and  so  astonished  Tait  by  the  extent  of  her  petty  in- 
formation and  the  volubility  of  her  tongue  that  he 
could  only  stare  and  wonder.  Introduced  to  him  she 
was  graciously  pleased  to  observe  that  she  had  heard 
of  him  and  his  inquiries. 

''The  waiter,  you  know,  Mr.  Tait,"  she  said,  smil- 
ing at  his  astonishment.  "  Sugden  is  his  name;  he 
told  me  all  about  you.  Now,  why  do  you  wish  to  learn 
all  about  that  Larcher  crime  ?  " 

"For  amusement  merely,"  replied  Tait,  rather 
scandalizing  the  vicar  by  this  answer.  "  The  waiter 
began  to  speak  of  it,  and  I  encouraged  him;  later  on  I 
heard  the  story  from  a  gardener." 

"From  Dicky  Pental,"  interrupted  Miss  Pike 
vivaciously.  "  Oh,  he  can  tell  you  nothing — he  is 
mad!  " 

"  Mad  or  not,  he  told  me  a  great  deal." 

"All  false,  no  doubt.  My  dear  Mr.  Tait,"  con- 
tinued the  lady  impressively,  "  only  one  person  can 
tell  you  the  truth  of  that  case.     Myself!  " 

"  Or  Louisa  Sinclair.  " 

"  Louisa  Sinclair!     What  do  you  know  about  her  ?" 

"Nothing,  save  her  name,"  replied  Tait;  "but  I 
want  to  know  more.  Can  you  give  me  the  required 
information  ? " 


THE    STORY  OF    THE   MAD    GARDENER.         267 

"Yes.  Come  and  have  afternoon  tea  with  me  to- 
day, and  I'll  tell  you  all.  Oh,  yes,"  said  Miss  Pike, 
with  a  self-satisfied  nod,  "  I  know  who  killed  Captain 
Larcher." 

"  Jerringham — Denis,  the  valet — Hilliston  ? '" 

'*  No.  Those  three  people  are  innocent.  I  can 
swear  to  it.     I  know  it." 

"Then  who  is  guilty?" 

"Why,"  said  Miss  Pike  quietly,  "Mrs.  Larcher's 
maid — Mona  Bantry." 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

a  letter  from  horriston.  ~    - 

"  My  Dear  Claude  : 

"In  my  last  letter  I  informed  you  of  my  various  dis- 
coveries with  regard  to  the  case.  I  deem  myself  singu- 
larly fortunate  in  finding  those  who  could  afford  me  the 
necessary  information.  Five-and-twenty  years  is  a 
wide  gap  of  time,  and,  to  tell  the  honest  truth,  I  scarcely 
expected  to  be  successful  in  my  mission.  Death, 
absence,  old  age,  might  have  put  an  end  to  all  who 
knew  about  the  case,  but,  as  you  are  already  advised,  I 
unexpectedly  met  with  three  people  who  gave  me  three 
different  versions  of  the  murder  from  their  various 
points  of  view.  First,  the  waiter  Sugden,  who  merely 
reflected  the  opinion  of  Dick  Pental;  second,  the 
gardener  himself,  with  his  first-hand  story;  and  third, 
Miss  Belinda  Pike,  whose  ideas  are  quite  at  variance 
with  the  other  two. 

*'I  mentioned  to  you  that  I  had  met  Miss  Pike  at 
my  friend  Brandon's,  and  that  she  had  invited  me  to 
visit  her  the  next  day  to  hear  her  story  of  the  case. 
Of  course,  I  went,  and  found  the  lady  an  excellent 
character  for  my  purpose.  She  has  a  truly  wonderful 
memory  for  the  small  beer  of  life.  She  is  a  born  gossip, 
and  is  one  of  the  most  spiteful  women  it  has  ever  been 
my  fortune  to  meet.  Her  invitation  was  more  to  satisfy 
her  own  vanity  and  curiosity  than  because  she  wished 

268 


A   LETTER  FROM  HORRISTOM.  269 

to  do  me  a  service;  but  if  she  is  gratified  in  the  one 
she  is  balked  in  the  other.  With  some  difficulty — for 
she  is  a  most  persistent  creature — I  managed  to  evade 
her  inquiries  as  to  my  reason  for  wishing  to  know 
about  'The  Larcher  Affair';  and  extracted  from  her 
all  information  likely  to  be  of  service  to  us  in  discover- 
ing the  truth.  What  she  told  me  leaves  me  more  in 
the  dark  than  ever;  and  I  shall  doubtless  return  to 
Thorston  no  whit  nearer  the  truth  than  I  was  when  I 
set  out. 

"But  before  narrating  her  story,  as  imparted  to  me 
in  strict  secrecy,  you  must  nut  be  offended  if  certain 
reflections  are  cast  by  this  busybody  on  your  mother. 
To  get  at  the  truth  of  this  complication  you  must  view 
it  from  a  disinterested  standpoint  and  throw  aside  all 
prejudice.  I  do  not  for  a  moment  believe  that  Mrs. 
Larcher  intended  to  willfully  deceive  her  husband,  as 
is  implied  by  Miss  Pike,  but  I  must  confess  I  think  her 
conduct  was  highly  reprehensible.  Still  I  pass  no 
judgment,  as  it  is  not  my  place  to  do  so;  and  you 
must  clearly  understand  that  the  remarks  herein  con- 
tained about  her  are  those  of  Miss  Pike.  You  can 
guess  from  their  tenor  what  a  very  spiteful  old  lady 
she  is.  I  promised  to  report  my  doings  and  hearings 
faithfully  to  you,  and  I  hereby  keep  my  promise,  and 
at  the  cost  of  your  losing  your  temper. 

"  The  cause  of  Miss  Pike's  malignity  is  jealousy — 
a  passion  which  is  as  active  now  with  her  as  it  was 
twenty-five  years  ago.  Then  the  fair  Belinda,  accord- 
ing to  her  own  account,  was  the  belle  of  Horriston, 
and  shared  that  enviable  position  with  two  rivals — the 
one  being  your  mother,  the  other  Miss  Louisa  Sinclair. 
I   fancy  I   hear   you   exclaim   at   the   mention  of   this 


270  THE    l^HIRD    VOLUME. 

name.  But  Mrs.  Bezel  is  right;  such  a  person  does 
exist.  She  was  a  passably  pretty  girl, — according  to 
Miss  Pike, — and  rather  popular, — again  Miss  Pike, — 
but  cared  for  no  one  so  much  as  Mr.  Francis  Hilliston, 
then  a  handsome  young  lawyer  of  great  promise  and 
good  family.  This  is  evidently  the  romance  of  Hillis- 
ton's  life,  and  accounts  for  his  silence  about  Louisa 
Sinclair.  He  did  not  wish  to  speak  of  one  who  had 
disappeared  under  somewhat  discreditable  circum- 
stances; yet  who  truly  loved  him.  Whether  he 
returned  her  love  I  cannot  say.  Suspend  your 
judgment  till  you  hear  the  story  of  this  maiden  lady. 
Of  course,  it  is  quite  different  to  that  of  Dick  Pental, 
and,  I  think,  less  easy  to  believe.  The  gardener  spoke 
of  what  he  saw;  Miss  Pike  speaks  of  what  she  thinks. 
Judge  for  yourself  which  is  right. 

"As  I  have  said.  Miss  Pike  was  a  belle  in  her 
younger  days.  She  was  also  well  off,  and  could  have 
made  a  good  match.  Unfortunately,  she  was  in  love 
with  Hilliston;  I  say  unfortunately,  because  he  hap- 
pened to  be  in  love  with  Mrs.  Larcher.  I  again  apolo- 
gize for  putting  the  matter  so  plainly,  but  Miss  Pike 
insisted  that  it  was  so.  In  those  days  Hilliston  must 
have  been  a  handsome  and  fascinating  man,  for  Louisa 
Sinclair  also  loved  him — with  a  like  result.  He  had 
no  eyes  for  these  two  damsels,  but  quietly  devoted 
himself  to  Mrs.  Larcher.  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that 
he  roused  the  suspicions  of  your  father,  for  his  devo- 
tion was  perfectly  respectful.  The  desire  of  the  moth 
for  the  star,  I  may  say — for  Hilliston  knew  well  enough 
that  he  had  no  chances  in  that  quarter  for  two  reasons. 
First,  Mrs.  Larcher  was  a  married  woman;  second, 
she  was  in  love  with  Jeringham, 


A    LETTER  FROM  HORRISTON.  271 

"At  the  time  of  that  notable  dress  ball  matters 
stood  thus: 

"Miss  Belinda  Pike  in  love  with  Hilliston. 

"  Miss  Louisa  Sinclair  in  love  with  Hilliston. 

"Hilliston  in  love  with  Mrs.  Larcher. 

"  Mrs.  Larcher  in  love  with  Jeringham. 

"Can  you  imagine  anything  more  complicated;  and 
to  make  confusion  still  worse,  Miss  Pike  solemnly 
asserted  that  Jeringham  was  not  in  love  with  Mrs. 
Larcher,  but  with  her  maid,  Mona  Bantry.  There- 
fore, all  round,  each  of  these  five  people  was  in  love 
with  the  wrong  person.  It  was  a  modern  '  Comedy  of 
Errors,'  with  a -tragic  ending. 

"Miss  Pike  went  to  the  ball  in  the  character  of  a 
flower  girl,  and  there  was  astonished  to  find  two  Mary, 
Queen  of  Scots,  and  two  Darnleys.  During  the  night 
she  learned  that  out  of  jealousy  Louisa  Sinclair  had 
adopted  the  same  fancy  dress  as  your  mother.  She 
was  the  second  Queen  of  Scots,  and  was  attired  pre- 
cisely the  same  in  all  respects,  save  that  Mrs.  Larcher 
wore  a  small  dagger,  and  Miss  Sinclair  did  not.  On 
making  this  discovery  Miss  Pike  naturally  thought — as 
a  jealous  woman  would — that  the  second  Darnley  was 
Hilliston.  She  knew  that  the  first  was  Jeringham,  and 
did  not  trouble  herself  about  him,  but  maneuvered  to 
get  speech  with  the  second.  To  her  astonishment  she 
found  out — how  I  cannot  say — that  it  was  Captain 
Larcher,  who  was  supposed  to  be  in  London.  He  con- 
fessed that  he  was  jealous  of  his  wife,  and  had  returned 
in  disguise  to  learn  the  truth.  Miss  Pike  was  not  clear 
whether  he  was  suspicious  of  Jeringham  or  of  Hillis- 
ton, and  she  had  no  opportunity  of  learning  the  truth 
as    Larcher,   seeing   his  wife   leave  the  ballroom,  fol- 


272  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

lowed  her  at  once.  The  next  day  Miss  Pike  was 
informed  of  the  disappearance  of  Jeringham,  and  later 
on  she  learned  of  the  death  of  Captain  Larcher. 

"  Now,  you  will  ask  whom  she  suspected.  A  woman 
with  so  unhappy  a  temper  would  not  be  long  in  form- 
ing an  opinion  about  a  matter  connected  with  a  lady 
of  whom  she  was  jealous.  I  allude  to  your  mother. 
Miss  Pike  had  a  theory,  and  ever  since,  declining  to 
accept  the  evidence  given  at  the  trial,  has  held  firmly 
to  it.  She  suspected  Mona  Bantry  to  be  guilty.  I 
give  her  reason  in  her  own  words. 

"'Of  course  it  is  only  theory,'  she  said,  when  I 
asked  her  pointblank  who  she  thought  was  guilty, 
'but  my  suspicions  point  to  Mrs.  Larcher's  maid.' 

"'To  Mona  Bantry  ?'  I  asked,  rather  astonished. 

"  'Yes!  She  was  in  love  with  Mr.  Jeringham,  and 
he  was  at  the  ball  dressed  as  Darnley;  Captain  Lar- 
cher wore  the  same  dress.  As  I  told  you  he  left  the 
ballroom  when  he  saw  his  wife  go  out  with  Mr. 
Jeringham.  I  fancy  he  followed  them  home,  and 
caught  them  as  they  parted  in  the  garden  of  The 
Laurels.  Very  likely  he  ordered  Mr.  Jeringham  off 
the  premises,  and  insisted  on  his  wife  going  into  the 
house.  Mona,  who  was  sitting  up  for  her  mistress, 
would  open  the  door,  and  seeing  by  the  dress,  as  she 
thought,  Mr.  Jeringham  with  Mrs.  Larcher,  I  believe 
she  lost  her  head  and  killed  him.' 

"  'Killed  him;  but  how  ?' 

"  '  With  the  dagger  worn  by  Mrs.  Larcher,'  responded 
Miss  Pike  triumphantly.  '  She  snatched  it  from  the 
sheath  as  it  hung  at  the  girdle  of  Mrs.  Larcher,  and 
killed  the  poor  man — thinking  he  was  her  lover.  Then, 
finding  out  her  mistake,  she  fled. 


A   LETTER  FROM  HORRISTON.  273 

"  '  But  so  did  Jeringham,'  I  said. 

"'Yes.  He  also  saw  the  murder,  and  naturally 
enough  thought  he  might  be  suspected.  I  think  he 
took  Mona  away  with  him  on  the  very  night,  and  they 
fled  together.  As  to  the  body,  Denis,  the  brother,  to 
save  his  sister  and  possibly  his  mistress  from  being  sus- 
pected, threw  it  into  the  river.  That  is  my  theory, 
Mr.  Tait,  and  I  believe  it  to  be  the  true  one.' 

"  I  need  not  repeat  more  of  our  conversation,  as  it 
was  merely  argument  on  both  sides,  but  you  now  know 
sufficient  to  see  in  what  direction  Miss  Pike's  suspic- 
ions are  directed.  Her  story  is  quite  at  variance  with 
that  of  your  mother,  who  plainly  stated  that  she  found 
Mona  in  the  sitting  room  with  your  father.  It  is  not 
strange  that  the  two  narrations  should  be  contradic- 
tory, for  we  must  remember  that  Mrs.  Larcher 
spoke  from  facts  while  Miss  Pike  only  speaks  from 
hearsay. 

"Again,  from  the  statement  of  Dick  Pental,  it  would 
appear  that  the  murder  took  place  in  the  garden;  your 
mother  says  it  was  committed  in  the  sitting  room,  so 
here  is  another  contradiction.  But  you  must  not  for- 
get that  only  one  person  has  sworn  to  the  identity  of 
those  he  saw  with  the  body.  Miss  Pike  can  prove 
nothing  from  facts,  and  only  evolves  accusations  out 
of  her  own  malignant  nature.  Your  mother  accuses 
no  one,  alleging  that  she  fainted  in  the  sitting  room. 
Therefore,  taking  all  facts  into  consideration,  I  believe 
the  gardener's  story  to  be  true,  and  that  Denis  Bantry 
killed  your  father;  Jeringham,  through  force  of  cir- 
cumstances, being  an  accessory  to  the  deed.  This 
view  accounts  for  the  identity  of  Paynton  with  Jering- 
ham,  of  Kerry    with    Denis — and    fully    accounts    for 


2  74  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

their    living   in    seclusion   at    Thorston.     This  is   my 
opinion.     Do  you  think  you  can  give  a  better  ? 

"Regarding  your  mother's  hint  about  Louisa  Sin- 
clair, I  confess  I  cannot  understand  it.  Miss  Pike 
was  perfectly  frank  about  that  person  ;  and  stated 
that  shortly  after  the  murder  she  went  to  America 
and  had  not  been  heard  of  for  years.  Hilliston  may 
know  of  her  whereabouts,  but  under  the  circumstances 
I  do  not  think  he  is  likely  to  speak.  At  all  events  we 
are  certain  of  two  things  :  that  Louisa  Sinclair  did  not 
marry  Hilliston  ;  that  she  had  nothing  to  do  with  the 
tragedy  at  The  Laurels.  Miss  Pike  intends  to  show 
me  a  portrait  of  the  lady  on  the  occasion  of  my  next 
visit.  A  knowledge  of  her  looks  may  lead  to  some- 
thing ;  but  honestly  speaking  I  do  not  see  how  she  can 
possibly  be  implicated  in  the  matter. 

"  But  I  must  bring  this  long  letter  to  a  close.  I  have 
found  out  sufficient  at  Horriston  to  justify  our  sus- 
picions of  the  menage  at  Rose  Cottage,  and  when  I 
return  we  must  set  our  wits  to  work  to  see  Paynton 
and  Kerry.  They  must  be  forced  into  plain  speaking, 
then  we  may  solve  the  mystery  of  your  father's  death 
— not  before.  Expect  me  in  two  days,  and  think  over 
what  I  have  written  so  that  we  may  discuss  the  matter 
thoroughly  when  we  come  together.  And  so  no  more 
at  present  from  your  friend, 

"  Spenser  Tait." 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

THE    ORIGINAL    OF    THE    PORTRAIT. 

Claude  Larcher  was  blessed  with  the  best  of  tem- 
pers, and  strongly  gifted  with  self-control.  He  found 
these  virtues  very  necessary  in  his  profession,  espe- 
cially when  in  command  of  a  body  of  men  in  the  wilds. 
There  no  trouble  ruffled  him,  no  disappointment  de- 
pressed his  spirits  ;  he  was  always  serene  and  amiable, 
so  that  among  his  comrades  his  good  temper  had  be- 
come proverbial.  Had  they  seen  him  at  this  moment 
they  would  have  found  reason  to  alter  their  opinion. 

The  case  wore  out  his  patience  ;  he  saw  no  end  to 
the  complications  arising  therefrom.  No  sooner  was 
one  obstacle  surmounted  than  another  blocked  up  the 
path.  But  for  Tait  he  would  have  taken  Hilliston's 
advice  long  ago,  and  let  the  matter  lie  ;  but  the  little 
man  was  bent  on  solving  this  particularly  tantalizing 
mystery,  and  so  urged  his  friend  to  persevere  in  what 
seemed  to  be  futile  attempts.  So  far  Claude  had  held 
to  his  resolve,  but  this  last  letter  of  Tait's  with  its 
budget  of  new  complications  threw  him  into  a  rage. 
He  vowed  that  he  would  throw  up  the  matter  as  soon 
as  Tait  returned.  His  father  was  dead,  and  there  was 
an  end  of  it  ;  after  five-and-twenty  years  nothing  what- 
ever could  be  discovered  ;  and  above  all  there  was 
Jenny. 

Claude  was  too  clear-sighted  to  disguise  from  him- 

275 


276  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

self  the  fact  that  he  was  in  love;  and  now  enlightened 
by  Mrs.  Hilliston  regarding  the  feelings  of  the  young 
lady,  he  was  doubly  anxious  to  make  her  his  wife. 
Before  he  could  do  so  he  had  to  remove  an  obstacle  in 
the  shape  of  her  father,  and  that  was  no  easy  matter. 
Who  Mr.  Paynton  was  he  did  not  know;  whether  he 
was  implicated  in  the  Larcher  affair  he  could  not 
guess;  but  of  one  thing  he  was  certain:  that  Mr. 
Paynton  resented  his  prosecution  of  the  case.  While 
he  continued  to  investigate  the  mystery  the  recluse 
would  continue  inimical,  and  would  therefore  refuse 
to  permit  him  to  pay  attentions  to  his  daughter. 

Regarding  Linton  and  his  love,  Claude  had  no  fears. 
He  had  been  assured  by  Mrs.  Hilliston  that  Jenny 
I  liked  him  best,  and  taking  advantage  of  the  hint  he 
had  thrown  himself  as  frequently  as  possible  into  the 
society  of  his  beloved.  Did  Jenny  go  to  the  vicarage, 
Claude  was  there  under  the  pretense  of  questioning 
the  clergyman  concerning  the  architecture  of  the 
church;  did  she  practice  on  the  organ,  Claude  was 
always  waiting  at  the  door  to  carry  her  music-book  to 
Rose  Cottage.  A  walk  in  the  morning,  he  was  in  the 
vicinity;  a  stroll  in  the  evening,  and  he  appeared  un- 
expectedly round  the  nearest  corner.  In  driving,  rid- 
ing, walking,  visiting,  this  persistent  young  man  was 
constantly  to  be  found  near  Miss  Jenny  Paynton.  All 
this  meant  infatuation. 

Availing  himself  of  the  opportunities  thus  afforded, 
he  learned  her  secret,  and  betrayed  his  own.  Without 
a  word  being  said  on  either  side — with  the  shadow  of 
the  case  between  them — these  two  young  people  fell  in 
love  with  one  another.  When  Tait  returned  two  days 
after  his  last  letter,  he  was  confronted  by  Claude  with 


THE   ORIGINAL    OF    THE  PORTRAI-r.  277 

the  intimation  that  he  wished  to  stop  further  investi- 
gations. Tait,  who  was  devoured  by  an  unappeasable 
curiosity  to  find  out  the  truth,  resented  this  backslid- 
ing, and  told  Claude  his  opinion  very  plainly.  But  for 
their  long  friendship  they  would  have  quarreled  over 
the  matter;  as  it  was  Tait  argued  out  the  question, 
and  induced  Claude  to  come  round  to  his  way  of 
thinking.     But  it  was  a  hard  task. 

"You  are  not  going  to  turn  back  after  putting 
your  hand  to  the  plow?"  he  said,  when  Claude  first 
broached  the  subject  of  abandoning  the  case. 

"Why  not,  if  the  plow  won't  move?"  returned  the 
young  man  flippantly. 

"The  plow  will  move,"  returned  Tait  vehemently. 
"You  got  my  last  letter?" 

"I  did.  But  I  don't  see  that  it  contains  anything 
likely  to  elucidate  the  mystery.  Your  Dick  Pental  is 
a  madman;  your  Miss  Pike  an  untrustworthy  gossip." 

"That  is  your  opinion,  not  mine.  I  have  made  a 
discovery  since  writing  my  last  letter,  of  which  I  have 
not  yet  had  time  to  inform  you." 

"What  is  it?" 

"I'll  tell  you  later  on.  Meanwhile  is  it  on  account 
of  this  girl  that  you  have  decided  to  abandon  the 
case  ? " 

"  Partly,  and  partly  because  I  think  we  are  wasting 
time.     Our  investigation  can  lead  to  no  result." 

"  We  may  find  out  who  killed  your  father." 

"I  doubt  that,"  replied  Larcher  coolly.  "You 
suspect  Hilliston;  you  suspect  Jeringham;  you  sus- 
pect Mona  Bantry.  Why,  in  your  last  letter  you  hinted 
at  the  guilt  of  Denis,  simply  because  a  drunken  lunatic 
told  you  a  wild   story;  yet,   so  far  as  I  can  see,  you 


278  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

have  not  a  morsel  of  evidence  against  any  one  of  tlie 
four." 

''You  are  wrong,"  said  Tait,  in  an  argumentative 
manner.  "  The  misfortune  is  that  there  is  too  much 
evidence  against  them  all.  I  could  furnish  you  with  a 
case  against  each  which — so  far  as  circumstantial  evi- 
dence is  concerned — would  convince  you  of  their 
individual  guilt." 

''Theory,  Tait,  theory!" 

"We'll  prove  that  soon,  my  boy,"  said  Tait,  with 
exasperating  coolness,  "  if  you  back  out  of  the  case, 
I  at  least  am  determined  to  see  it  through.  I  suppose 
you  are  bent  on  marrying  the  young  lady." 

"  If  she'll  have  me — yes." 

"  Humph !  There's  another  obstacle  which  you  have 
overlooked.  The  consent  of  her  father — our  mysteri- 
ous friend,  Paynton." 

"  I  have  not  overlooked  the  obstacle.  I  will  obtain 
his  consent  from  his  own  lips." 

"  And  how  do  you  intend  to  see  him  ? " 

"Through  the  agency  of  Mr.  Hilliston,"  replied 
Larcher  calmly.  "  He  has  agreed  to  introduce  me  to 
Paynton  to-morrow.      Here  is  his  letter." 

The  little  man  fairly  bounded  from  his  chair,  and 
he  took  the  letter  from  his  friend's  hand  with  an  air 
of  bewilderment.  After  mastering  the  contents  he 
returned  it  with  a  satisfied  nod. 

"  I  congratulate  you,  Claude,"  he  said,  with  a  good- 
humored  air.  "Though  you  failed  with  the  man,  you 
may  succeed  with  the  matter.  But  how  in  the  name 
of  Olympian  Jove  did  you  induce  Hilliston  to  do  this  ?" 

"Why,  he  saw  that  I  was  in  love  with  Jenny,  and 
for  some  inexplicable  reason  has  agreed  to  forward  my 


THE   ORIGINAL   OF    THE  PORTRAIT.  279 

suit,  by  introducing  me  to  plead  my  cause  with   the 
father." 

"Not  so  inexpUcable  as  you  think,"  said  Tait 
sagaciously.  "  I  see  his  idea.  He  thinks  you  will  be 
so  occupied  with  love-making  as  to  abandon  the  case." 

"  I  don't  know  that  he  isn't  right." 

"Oh,  I  see  you  are  bent  on  getting  quit  of  the 
matter,  Claude.  But,"  and  Tait  shook  a  reproving 
forefinger,  "you  will  change  your  mind  after  this 
interview  with  our  hermit  friend." 

"Why  so?" 

"You  will  learn  something  which  will  astonish  you. 
I  only  wish  I  could  be  present  with  you  to  see  what 
occurs." 

"But  if  I  make  no  reference  to  the  case,"  said 
Larcher  seriously. 

Tait  waxed  indignant  on  the  instant,  and  spoke  his 
mind  freely.  "Claude,  my  friend,  I  went  into  this 
matter  solely  on  your  account,  and  you  owe  it  to  me 
to  see  it  through.  If  you  find  further  investigation  a 
bar  to  your  marriage  I  will  agree  to  let  the  matter 
drop.  But  first,"  added  Tait,  with  emphasis,  "you 
must  make  an  effort  to  get  the  truth  out  of  this  man. 
Swear  to  him  that  you  are  resolved  to  push  the  matter 
to  the  end.  Tell  him  that  I  have  learned  something 
new  at  Horriston.  Mention  the  name  of  Louisa  Sin- 
clair. Then  see  the  result.  After  hearing  the  story 
of  Dicky  Pental  I  am  convinced  that  this  man  is 
Jeringham." 

"I  will  do  all  you  say,"  replied  Claude,  after  some 
hesitation,  "but  I  am  afraid  that  my  pertinacity  in 
this  matter  will  prejudice  my  wooing." 

"If,  at  the  end  of  the  interview,  you  see  that,  with- 


28o  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

draw  your  intention  to  go  on  with  the  case.  Then  out 
of  gratitude  he  may  give  you  his  daughter.  Bluff  him 
first — yield  afterward.  In  that  way  we  may  discover 
who  Paynton  is — what  he  has  to  do  with  the  case, 
and  why  he  is  connected  with  Hilliston.  Do  you 
agree?     Good!     Give    me   your   hand   on    that." 

The  two  men  shook  hands,  though  it  was  not  with- 
out a  secret  qualm  that  Claude  thus  sealed  the  com- 
pact.    After  a  pause  he  said: 

"And  who  is  this  Louisa  Sinclair  you  make  such  a 
point  of  my  mentioning  to  Paynton  ?" 

"Ah!  That  is  my  discovery,"  said  Tait,  rubbing  his 
hands.  "When  I  interviewed  Mrs.  Bezel  I  showed 
her  a  portrait  of  Mrs.  Hilliston,  whom  curiously 
enough  she  had  never  seen — no  doubt  Hilliston  has 
his  reasons  therefor.  She  seemed  startled,  but  said 
nothing.  Then  she  wrote  to  you  about  Louisa 
Sinclair." 

"But  what  has  Louisa  Sinclair  to  do  with  Mrs. 
Hilliston  ?  " 

"Can't  you  guess  ?  Miss  Pike  showed  me  a  portrait 
of  Louisa  Sinclair  taken  twenty-five  years  ago.  I  did 
not  then  wonder  at  Mrs.  Bezel's  start,  or  that  Hillis- 
ton had  refrained  from  letting  her  see  the  picture  of 
his  wife.  In  a  word,  Louisa  Sinclair  and  Mrs.  Hillis- 
ton are  one  and  the  same  woman." 

"Ah!"  cried  Claude,  with  a  sudden  recollection, 
"  it  was  for  that  she  was  so  afraid  of  your  going  to 
Horriston. " 

"Yes.  She  thought  I  might  learn  too  much.  This 
is  the  beginning  of  the  end,  Claude." 

"What!  Do  you  think  Mrs.  Hilliston  knows  any- 
thing of  the  case?" 


THE   ORIGINAL    OF    THE  PORTRAIT.  281 

"  According  to  your  mother  she  knows  a  good  deal. 
According  to  Miss  Pike  she  is  in  possession  of  certain 
facts.  Yes,  I  think  Mrs.  Hilliston  can  help  us  if  she 
will." 

"But,  my  dear  Tait,"  said  Claude  quietly,  "Mrs. 
Hilliston  is   an  American." 

"  Ah!  Louisa  Sinclair  went  to  America,  and  prob- 
ably became  a  naturalized  subject  of  the  Stars  and 
Stripes." 

"But,"  objected  Larcher,  "she  was  a  widow  when 
she  married  Hilliston." 

"So  I  believe.  A  Mrs.  Derrick.  No  doubt  she 
came  by  all  her  money  through  that  first  marriage. 
Oh,  I  can  put  the  puzzle  easily  together.  No  wonder 
Hilliston  wanted  the  case  dropped,  both  on  his  own 
account  and  on  that  of  his  wife." 

"What  do  you  mean,  Tait?  Do  you  suspect 
that " 

"Say  no  more,"  said  Tait,  rising,  "I  will  tell  you 
what  I  mean  after  you  have  seen  Paynton.  But 
then,"  added  he  significantly,  "I  don't  think  you 
will  need  any  explanation," 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

A    STRANGE    THING    HAPPENS. 

The  next  morning  Claude  received  a  second  letter 
from  Hilliston,  stating  that  as  his  wife  was  ill  he 
would  be  unable  to  come  over  to  Thorston,  but  direct- 
ing the  young  man  to  go  to  Rose  Cottage  at  noon, 
when  Mr.  Paynton  would  be  ready  to  receive  him. 
Tait  regretted  that  he  had  not  been  included  in  the 
invitation,  and  carefully  instructed  Claude  how  to  act 
during  the  interview. 

"I  believe  Paynton  can  settle  the  matter,"  were  his 
parting  words,  "  so  put  love  out  of  your  head  for  the 
time  being,  and  do  your  best  to  extract  the  truth." 

Anxious  to  oblige  one  who  took  so  much  interest  in 
his  private  affairs,  Larcher  promised  to  do  what  he 
could,  and  shortly  after  eleven  started  for  Rose  Cot- 
tage. As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  need  not  have  gone  so 
soon,  but  he  did  so  in  the  hope  of  meeting  with  Jenny. 
Well  acquainted  as  he  was  with  her  movements,  his 
surmise  proved  correct,  for  he  met  the  young  lady 
at  the  end  of  Nightingale  Lane.  She  blushed,  and 
expressed  surprise  at  the  meeting.  But  such  feigning 
is  part  of  love's  comedy. 

''  I  did  not  expect  to  see  you  here,  Mr.  Larcher," 
she  said,  after  the  first  greetings  had  passed  between 
them.      "Where  are  you  going?  " 

"  I  am  about  to  call  on  your  father." 

282 


A    STRANGE    THING  HAPPENS.  283 

"  Really! "  said  Jenny,  with  some  perplexity  and 
more  doubt.  "  I  am  afraid  you  go  on  a  useless  errand. 
My  father  sees  no  one." 

"He  will  see  me,"  replied  Claude  quietly.  "I 
come  by  appointment.  Mr.  Hilliston  spoke  to  your 
father,  with  the  result  that  he  has  agreed  to  see  me." 

"Has  your  visit  anything  to  do  with — with  that 
novel?" 

"  It  has  everything  to  do  with  it.  I  wish  to  ask  Mr. 
Paynton  some  questions  in  connection  with  my  father's 
death." 

"  But  he  knows  nothing — nothing!  "  cried  Jenny 
vehemently;  "he  can  tell  you  nothing!  It  is  worse 
than  useless  for  you  to  speak  to  him  on  the  subject. 
You  will  only  make  him  ill." 

"But  I  have  to  speak  to  him  on  another  subject," 
said  Claude  artfully. 

Jenny  looked  up  inquiringly,  remarked  the  passion 
in  his  gaze,  and  turned  away  her  face  with  a  blush. 
Much  as  she  would  have  liked  to,  she  found  it  impos- 
sible to  appear  ignorant  of  his  meaning. 

"It  seems  to  me  that  I  am  the  person  to  be  first 
consulted,"  she   said,  with  a  pout. 

''Jenny,  I " 

"Hush!  Here  is  Kerry.  See  my  father  first,  and 
then  see  me.     Till  then  good-by. " 

She  flitted  rapidly  away,  and  turned  the  corner  of 
the  lane  as  Kerry,  more  crabbed-looking  than  ever, 
came  up  to  where  Claude  was  standing.  It  was  then 
that  Larcher  saw  that  the  old  servant  was  suffering 
under  some  strong  emotion.  His  eyes  were  brighter 
than  usual,  his  lips  quivered,  and  he  was  so  nervous 
that  he  could  keep   neither  limbs   nor  body  at  rest. 


284  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

Rightly  connecting  this  agitation  with  his  visit,  Claude 
wisely  held  his  peace,  and  waited  to  hear  what  Kerry 
had  to  say. 

"  You'll  be  after  seeing  the  master,  sir,"  said  Kerry, 
in  breathless  anxiety.  ''  He  is  waiting  for  you,  sir,  in 
the  garden." 

"  I  was  just  on  my  way  there,  Kerry,  and  stopped  to 
speak  for  a  few  minutes  to  Miss  Jenny.  I  am  very 
glad  that  Mr.  Paynton  has  consented  to  see  me." 

''And  you  may  well  be  glad.  Master  Claude." 

''  Master  Claude!  "  echoed  the  young  man,  stopping 
short. 

''Oh,  blazes!  'twas  a  slip  of  the  tongue,  sir,"  cried 
Kerry  anxiously.  "Don't  notice  it,  sir.  Sure,  it's 
old  I  am,  and  my  mind  wanders." 

"  Then  you  deny  that  you  are  Denis  Bantry  ?" 

"  Say  nothing  of  that,  sir.  Let  the  master  speak  his 
own  mind  to  you.  You'll  know  soon  enough  who  I 
am,  and  that's  a  fact,  anyhow." 

"  I  am  convinced  in  my  own  mind  that  you  are  my 
father's  old  servant,"  said  Larcher,  as  he  resumed  his 
walk,  "but  who  your  master  is  I  am  not  so  clear." 

Kerry  shook  his  head,  and  pursed  up  his  lips,  as 
though  determined  to  let  no  information  escape  him. 
They  walked  along  in  silence,  and  it  was  only  when  he 
unlocked  the  gate  in  the  red  brick  wall  that  Kerry 
again  opened  his  mouth. 

"  Keep  silent,  sir,  if  you  love  me,"  he  said,  in  a  low 
tone.  "  Don't  agitate  the  master.  He'll  do  the  speak- 
ing, and  tell  ye  all  ye  wish  to  know.  Begad,  and  more 
too." 

Larcher  nodded,  and  passed  into  the  garden  The 
morning  was  warm  and  sunny,  and  the  colors  of  the 


A    STRANGE    THING  HAPPENS.  285 

flowers  were  dazzling  in  the  warm  glow,  against  the 
white  walls  of  the  cottage.  With  his  hands  clasped 
behind  his  back,  Paynton  paced  meditatively  up  and 
down  the  path  before  the  house,  but  stopped  as  he 
caught  sight  of  his  visitor.  Taking  off  his  hat  in 
tribute  to  the  venerable  looks  of  the  old  gentleman, 
Claude  bowed,  and  waited  to  be  addressed.  For  some 
moments  Paynton  looked  at  him  in  silence,  with  much 
emotion,  then  controlling  himself  with  some  difficulty 
held  out  his  hand. 

"I  am  glad  to  see  you,  Mr. — Mr. " 

**  Larcher,"  suggested  Claude,  seeing  his  host  at  a 
loss  for  the  name. 

''Larcher!"  gasped  Paynton,  with  an  effort,  "yes 
— yes!  My  friend,  Mr.  Hilliston,  advised  me  of  your 
coming.  Let  us  enter  the  house.  We  will  have  more 
privacy  there." 

As  Claude  knew  no  one  was  about  in  that  walled 
place  but  Kerry  and  the  deaf  old  housekeeper,  he 
wondered  what  further  privacy  was  necessary;  but 
considering  that  Paynton  had  doubtless  good  reason 
for  his  action,  he  bowed  silently  and  followed  him 
within,  as  requested. 

In  a  few  minutes  they  were  in  the  bookroom. 
Paynton  seated  himself  in  such  a  position  as  to  place 
his  back  to  the  strong  light  shining  through  the  win- 
dow, and  asked  Claude  to  be  seated  in  a  chair  which 
lacked  this  advantage.  In  this  way  Paynton  could 
observe  every  change  in  the  face  of  his  visitor,  while 
his  own,  being  in  the  shadow,  was  more  difficult 
to  read.  Larcher  saw  the  maneuver,  but  did  not 
think  it  necessary  to  make  any  objection.  In  his 
place   Tait  would   have  acted   differently. 


2  86  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

"I  am  greatly  obliged  that  you  have  consented  to 
see  me,"  said  Claude,  breaking  the  silence,  "  for  I  am 
informed  that  you  live  a  very  secluded  life." 

"  That  is  true.  I  accord  you  this  interview  at  the 
request  of  my  friend,  Mr.  Hilliston,  but  at  the  same 
time  I  may  tell  you  that  I  have  my  own  reasons  for 
granting  it." 

"I  think  I  can  guess  your  reasons,  Mr.  Paynton." 

*'No  doubt,"  replied  Paynton,  touching  a  book  on 
the  table;  *'  they  are  not  unconnected  with  this  novel. 
You  know,  of  course,  that  my  daughter — that  Jenny 
supplied  young  Linton  with  the  material  for  his 
plot." 

"I  do.  She  found  the  report  of  my  father's  murder 
in  some  old  newspapers  in  this  house." 

*'Did  you  not  think  it  strange  that  I  should  be  in 
possession  of  such  a  report  ?  " 

"Naturally  I  did,"  answered  Claude,  replying  to 
this  direct  question  with  marked  embarrassment,  "and 
it  is  on  that  account  that  I  ask  you  to  help  me." 

"  Do  you  think  I  can  do  so  ?" 

"I  am  sure  of  it." 

"Why?"  asked  Paynton,  in  an  unsteady  voice. 

"  Because  you  know  about  the  matter.  You  retained 
the  report  of  the  trial.  Denis  Bantry  is  in  your  ser- 
vice under  the  name  of  Kerry,  and " 

"How  do  you  know  that?" 

"Why,  in  the  third  volume  of  that  book  there  is  an 
episode  of  a  scarfpin  which  is  not  mentioned  in  the  re- 
port of  the  trial,  but  which  was  told  to  Miss  Paynton  by 
the  man  you  call  Kerry.  Now,  only  two  persons  knew 
that  a  scarfpin  was  picked  up  in  the  grounds  of  The 
Laurels    after   the  murder.     One  was    Hilliston,    the 


A    STRANGE    THING  HAPPENS.  287 

Other    Denis   Bantry.     You    must   see,   Air.    Paynton, 
that  I  can  only  come  to  one  conclusion." 

"I  presume  you  got  this  information  from  Hillis- 
ton,"  said  Paynton,  in  an  altered  voice. 

"  Mr.  Hilliston  spoke  of  it,"  replied  Claude  cau- 
tiously. 

He  did  not  intend  to  reveal  that  he  had  heard  it 
from  his  mother,  or  indeed  to  reveal  the  existence  of 
Mrs.  Larcher  until  he  was  sure  of  his  ground,  and 
positive  of  Paynton's  identity.  Accepting  his  diplo- 
matic answer  in  the  affirmative,  Paynton  nodded,  and 
went  on  with  his  questioning. 

"You  spoke  to  Kerry  on  the  subject  ?" 

"  I  did.     But,  as  you  may  guess,  I  failed." 

"Naturally.  Kerry  is  a  faithful  servant.  I  owe 
more  to  him  than  I  can  ever  repay.  But  here  we  are 
talking  about  the  murder,"  added  Paynton  irrele- 
vantly, "when  you  wish  to  speak  about  Jenny,  at  least 
so  Hilliston  informed  me." 

"  I  do  wish  to  speak  of  your  daughter  later  on," 
said  Claude,  with  a  flushed  cheek;  "but  in  the  mean- 
time I  am  anxious  to  come  to  an  understanding  about 
this  crime." 

"Why?"  said  Paynton,  rather  disconcerted  at  his 
failure  to  turn  the  conversation. 

"  Because  I  have  sworn  to  avenge  the  death  of  my 
father." 

"That  is  what  a  good  son  should  do,"  said  Payn- 
ton thoughtfully.  "But  after  twenty-five  years  the 
chances  are  small.  You  wish  to  find  the  murderer — 
so  do  I." 

"You  !  " 
Yes.       I    am    more    deeply    interested     in     this 


<( 


288  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

matter  than  you  suppose.      Who  do  you  think  I  am  ?  " 
he  asked. 

**  I  cannot  say,  unless  you  are  Jeringham." 

"Jeringham?"  said  Paynton  in  a  faltering  tone. 
"  No,  I  am  not  Jeringham,  poor  soul!  Do  you  think 
him  guilty  of  the  crime  ?  " 

"I  do  and  I  don't.  Sometimes  it  seems  so,  at 
others    I    fancy    Hilliston   to    be    guilty." 

"  Hilliston  guilty!"  said  Paynton,  rising.  "What 
do  you  mean  ?" 

*'0h,  it  is  only  a  theory,"  said  Claude  hastily. 
*'But  my  friend  Tait,  who  was  at  Horriston  a  few 
days  ago,  found  out  all  kinds  of  things  which  implicated 
one  person  and  another.      He  found " 

"  Don't  tell  me — don't  tell  me,"  said  Paynton  hastily. 
"  I  cannot  talk  to  you  longer  or  else  I  shall  be  ill. 
This  interview  has  already  tried  me  too  much.  Here," 
he  added,  unlocking  a  drawer  in  his  desk,  ''take  these 
papers.  You  will  find  in  them  a  full  account  of  all  I 
know  of  the  matter." 

"You  were,  then,  an  eye-witness?"  said  Claude, 
joyfully  slipping  the  roll  of  manuscript  into  his 
pocket.  He  had  been  more  successful  than  he  had 
hoped  to  be. 

Paynton  pressed  his  hands  together,  and  looked 
eagerly  at  Claude.  "I  can  bear  it  no  longer,"  he  said 
impatiently,  laying  his  hands  on  the  shoulders  of  the 
astonished  young  man.  "  Boy — boy,  can  you  not 
guess  who  I  am  ?  " 

"No,"  replied  Larcher,  rising  to  his  feet  in  some 
wonder,  "  I  do  not  know  who  you  can  be,  unless  you 
are  Jeringham." 

"  I  am  not  Jeringham.      He  is  dead." 


A    STRANGE    THING  HAPPENS.  289 

"Dead!" 

"Aye,  murdered.  Can  you  not  see — can  you  not 
guess  ?  Claude,  the  man  who  was  killed  at  Horriston 
was  not  George  Larcher,  it  was  Mark  Jeringham!  " 

"But  you — you " 

"  I  am  your  father! " 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

A    VOICE    FROM    THE    GRAVE. 

It  was  close  on  two  o'clock,  and,  weary  of  waiting 
for  Claude,  the  master  of  the  Manor  House  had  seated 
himself  at  the  luncheon  table.  He  was  curious  to 
know  what  had  taken  place  between  his  friend  and  Mr. 
Paynton,  as  he  judged  from  the  length  of  time  the 
interview  had  lasted  that  some  important  communica- 
tion must  have  been  made.  Had  Claude  discovered 
the  identity  of  Paynton  with  Jeringham  ?  If  so,  had 
Jeringham  confessed  to  the  crime  ?  These  questions 
so  annoyed  and  perplexed  Tait  that  he  could  not 
swallow  a  mouthful  of  food.  Throwing  aside  his  nap- 
kin he  rose  from  the  table  to  see  if  Larcher  had 
returned. 

As  he  pushed  back  his  chair  the  door  opened  and 
Claude,  with  a  roll  of  papers  in  his  hand,  made  his 
appearance.  Tait  turned  to  greet  him  with  a  smile, 
but  it  disappeared  from  his  face  and  the  words  died 
on  his  lips  when  he  saw  the  white  and  haggard  counte- 
nance of  his  friend. 

"  Good  Heavens,  man!  "  he  cried,  hastening  toward 
him;  "what  is  the  matter?  Here,  sit  down!  Drink 
this  glass  of  wine!  " 

Claude  did  as  he  was  bidden;  then  waved  his  hand 
in  the  direction  of  Dormer,  who,  stolid  as  ever,  stood 
waiting  orders. 

290 


A    VOICE  FROM   THE   GRAVE.  291 

"You  can  go,  Dormer,"  said  Tait  hastily.  Then, 
when  the  man  leaving  the  room  closed  the  door  after 
him,  and  they  found  themselves  alone,  he  continued: 
"  Is  anything  wrong,  Claude  ?     Did  Paynton  tell " 

"Not  Paynton,"  said  Larcher,  finishing  his  wine 
and  setting  down  the  glass;  "there  is  not  such  a 
person!  " 

"Aha!"  remarked  Tait,  rubbing  his  hands.  "I 
thought  the  name  was  a  feigned  one.  And  who  is  our 
friend,  Mr.  Paynton  ?  " 

"My  father!" 

Tait  opened  his  mouth  to  utter  an  ejaculation,  shut 
it  without  doing  so,  and  looked  dumfounded  at  his 
friend. 

"What  —  what  —  what  do  you  mean?  Are  you 
mad  ?  "  he  stammered,  sitting  down  limply. 

"No,  I  am  not  mad,"  groaned  Claude,  "though  1 
have  suffered  enough  to  make  me  so.  I  mean  what  I 
say.  It  was  Jeringham  who  was  murdered.  Jering- 
ham,  who  was  dressed  as  Darnley  on  that  night,  as  was 
my  father.  Jeringham,  whose  corpse  was  so  unrecog- 
nizable by  decomposition  that  it  was  thought  to  be 
that  of  George  Larcher.  My  father  is  alive!  My 
father  is  hiding  here  as  Ferdinand  Paynton.  This  is 
his  story  of  the  tragedy." 

He  placed  the  roll  .of  paper  in  Tait's  hands,  and 
poured  himself  out  another  glass  of  wine.  Overcome 
with  amazement  the  little  man  looked  first  at  the 
paper,  then  at  his  friend.  It  was  some  minutes  be- 
fore he  could  collect  his  wits  together  and  speak 
coherently. 

"What  an  extraordinary  thing,"  he  said  at  length, 
"You  thought  both  your  parents   dead,    but  now  it 


292  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

seems  they  are  alive.  Your  mother  at  Clarence  Cot- 
tage, Hampstead;  your  father  at  Rose  Cottage, 
Thorston.  Did  you  tell  your  father  that  Mrs.  Larcher 
was  still  in  existence  ? "  he  asked  sharply. 

'*I  had  no  time  to  do  so,"  said  Claude,  with  an 
effort.  ''  My  father  placed  those  papers  in  my  hand, 
and  then  confessed  who  he  was.  I  wished  to  speak 
further  to  him,  but  he  pushed  me  out  of  the  room, 
saying,  'Read  that  confession,  and  form  your  judg- 
ment before  you  accept  me  as  your  father.'  I  hardly 
knew  what  I  was  doing  till  I  found  myself  in  the  lane 
outside.  Then  I  came  on  here.  I  still  feel  quite 
bewildered." 

"I  don't  wonder  at  it!  Take  another  glass  of  wine. 
Did  your " 

"  Don't  ask  any  questions,  Tait,"  said  Claude,  rising 
impatiently.  "Read  me  the  confession  at  once.  I 
can't  do  it  myself." 

"Won't  you  have  some  luncheon?" 

"No!  Every  mouthful  would  choke  me.  I'll  lie 
down  on  the  sofa,  and  you  bring  your  chair  close  to  me 
to  read." 

Tait  nodded,  and  unrolled  the  papers,  while  Claude, 
filling  himself  another  glass  of  claret,  crossed  over  to 
the  sofa  and  lay  down  thereon.  With  the  glass  of 
wine  on  the  carpet  beside  him;  with  the  untasted 
luncheon  on  the  table,  he  closed  his  eyes  with  a  weary 
sigh,  and  compelled  himself  to  listen.  Tait  glanced 
sympathetically  at  him,  then  without  remark,  though 
he  was  burning  to  speak,  smoothed  out  the  paper  and 
began  to  read  slowly.  The  writing  was  clear  and  legi- 
ble, the  matter  interesting,  so  there  was  no  difficulty 
in  deciphering  the  story  of  the  tragedy,  as  narrated  by 


A    VOICE  FROM   TIrE   GRAVE.  293 

the  man,  who,  for  twenty-two  years,  had  been  supposed 
to  be  the  victim.  The  confession  (so-called)  was  in 
the  form  of  a  letter  from  father  to  son: 

"  Dear  Claude  : 

"At  length  I  have  made  up  my  mind  to  reveal 
myself  to  you,  and  to  set  out  at  length  the  cir- 
cumstances which  placed  me  in  this  position.  I  am 
led  to  do  so  by  three  things.  Firstly,  your  presence 
in  this  neighborhood  with  the  avowed  intention  of 
avenging  my  death.  Secondly,  the  publication  of  the 
novel  entitled  'A  Whim  of  Fate,'  which  sets  out  the 
particulars  of  what  happened  at  Horriston  in  1866, 
more  or  less  perverted  for  fictional  purposes.  Thirdly, 
the  advice  of  Francis  Hilliston,  an  old  and  valued 
friend,  who  points  out  that  the  only  way  to  stop  you  in 
the  investigation  is  to  admit  my  identity,  and  so  do 
away  with  your  motive,  viz.,  the  avenging  of  my  death. 
On  reading  this  I  leave  it  to  yourself  whether  you  will 
still  consider  me  your  father,  and  visit  me  accordingly, 
or  whether  you  will  look  on  me  as  a  guilty  man.  Till 
you  are  acquainted  with  the  truth,  so  far  as  I  am  aware 
of  it,  I  swear  that  I  will  not  approach  you  or  open  my 
mouth  in  your  presence.  On  this  understanding  I  set 
forth  the  following  facts  as  shortly  as  is  consistent  with 
clearness.  Judge  me  as  you  please,  but  I  declare 
before  God  that  I  am  innocent  of  Jeringham's  death, 
and  that  I  know  not  who  killed  him.  This  for  the 
prologue;  and  now^for  the  story. 

"You  will  understand  that  I  wish  to  cast  no  asper- 
sions on  the  memory  of  your  mother  ;  but  in  the 
present  case,  it  is  necessary  that  I  should  speak  plainly. 
Your  mother  and  I  were  ill  suited  to  one  another,  and 


294  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

lived  unhappily  together.  Even  when  in  the  army  I 
was  addicted  to  literary  pursuits,  and,  when  I  sent  in 
my  papers,  I  devoted  myself  almost  entirely  to  study. 
Your  mother  was  gay  and  social.  Being  a  beautiful 
woman  she  liked  admiration,  and  was  never  so  happy 
as  when  out  at  balls,  at  the  theater,  or  at  garden  par- 
ties. She  lived  in  &  whirl  of  excitement,  and  she 
quarreled  bitterly  with  me  because  I  preferred  a 
quieter  life.  I  accompanied  her  sometimes,  but  not 
often  enough  to  please  her,  and  when  we  came  to 
reside  at  The  Laurels  after  my  leaving  the  army,  she 
frequently  declared  that  she  regretted  having  given  up 
Mark  Jeringham  for  me.  Naturally  enough  I  resented 
this  plain  speaking,  and  we  were  estranged.  Not  even 
your  birth  could  bridge  over  the  abyss  between  us, 
and,  while  we  lived  at  The  Laurels  at  Horriston,  I 
believe  we  were  as  unhappy  and  ill-matched  a  couple 
as  existed  in  England.  It  was  the  quick  coupled  with 
the  dead,  and  we  both  suffered  accordingly. 

"The  first  cause  of  our  unhappiness  was,  as  you  see, 
incompatibility  of  temper  ;  the  second  was  the  pres- 
ence of  Jeringham,  who  came  to  Horriston  ostensibly 
on  a  visit,  in  reality  to  stay  near  my  wife. 

"You  can  easily  understand  that  I  resented  the 
presence  of  this  young  man.  He  was  remarkably  like 
me  in  height,  figure,  and  looks,  and  my  wife  had  a 
fancy  for  him  before  her  marriage  with  me.  That  she 
became  my  wife,  she  laughingly  avowed,  was  because 
of  my  uniform.  So  far  as  looks  were  concerned  there 
was  nothing  to  choose  between  Jeringham  and  myself, 
but  the  glitter  of  the  military  trappings  (so  she  de- 
clared) turned  the  balance  in  my  favor.  You  may  be 
sure  I   liked  Jeringham  none   the   more  after  such  a 


A    VOICE  FROM    THE    GRAVE.  295 

declaration  of  lukewarm  affection  from  your  mother  ; 
and  when  he  came  to  reside  at  Horriston,  four  years 
after  our  marriage,  I  resented  his  continued  presence 
about  the  house.  Your  mother  was  angry  at  my  ex- 
postulations, and  the  introduction  of  this  second  ele- 
ment of  discord  into  the  house  estranged  us  more 
widely  than  ever.  It  was  a  miserable  and  most 
unhappy  time. 

*'It  was  my  friend  Hilliston  who  pointed  out  the 
real  reason  for  Jeringham's  visits.  This  latter  was 
not  in  love  with  my  wife,  but  with  her  maid,  Mona 
Bantry.  As  Denis,  the  brother  of  Mona,  was  an  old 
servant  of  mine,  I  did  not  care  to  speak  to  my  wife 
on  the  matter,  but  to  keep  the  affair  quiet,  and  to  save 
the  girl  from  the  anger  of  her  brother,  I  discouraged 
the  visits  of  Jeringham  on  all  possible  occasions.  We 
had  a  quarrel  in  public,  and,  as  all  the  gossips  of  Hor- 
riston knew  that  he  had  been  fond  of  my  wife  before 
her  marriage  to  me,  the  quarrel  was  set  down  to 
jealousy  on  my  part.  All  the  neighborhood  knew  there 
was  bad  blood  between  Jeringham  and  myself,  and 
(foolishly  enough,  I  admit)  I  made  use  of  several 
expressions  calculated  to  show  my  hatred.  These 
heated  speeches  were  afterward  remembered  and  com- 
mented upon. 

"  Things  were  in  this  position  when  the  fancy  dress 
ball  took  place  at  Horriston.  Hearing  that  it  was  to 
be  a  masked  ball,  I  resolved  to  assume  a  similar  dress 
to  that  of  Jeringham,  and  learn  from  my  wife's  own 
lips  if  she  still  cared  for  me.  You  may  think  I  acted 
in  an  unworthy  manner,  but  as  a  matter  of  fact  I  was 
nearly  out  of  my  mind  with  anger  and  jealousy,  and 
hardly  knew  what  I   was  doing.      My  wife  was  going 


296  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

to  the  ball  as  Mary,  Queen  of  Scots,  accompanied 
by  Jeringham  as  Darnley.  This  was  sufficiently 
pointed  to  show  in  what  direction  her  affections 
leaned,  and  I  took  advantage  of  the  opportunity. 
Feigning  an  excuse,  I  ostensibly  went  to  London, 
but  in  reality  remained  at  Horriston,  where  I  obtained 
from  the  costumer  a  similar  dress  to  that  worn  by 
Jeringham. 

''Thus  masked  and  disguised  I  repaired  to  the  ball. 
There  I  was  recognized  by  a  Miss  Belinda  Pike,  but 
she  kindly  consented  to  keep  my  secret.  You  can 
guess  what  happened.  Deceived  by  the  dress  my  wife 
took  me  for  Jeringham,  and  I  learned  sufficient  to 
know  that  she  loved  him  and  hated  me.  I  did  not 
reveal  myself,  but  went  away  mad  with  wrath.  My 
sole  idea  was  to  unmask  Jeringham,  and  show  my  wife 
how  unworthy  he  was  of  her  love.  To  this  end  I 
sought  out  Hilliston,  and,  learning  that  my  wife  was 
shortly  returning  home,  Hilliston  and  I  went  to  The 
Laurels  together,  as  I  intended  to  make  Mona  confess 
that  Jeringham  was  her  lover.  I  left  Hilliston  outside 
in  the  garden  to  watch  for  the  coming  of  my  wife,  and 
entered  the  house  to  see  Mona.  She  was  waiting  in 
the  sitting  room  for  her  mistress,  and  I  then  and  there 
forced  her  to  admit  the  truth.  She  declared  that 
Jeringham  was  the  father  of  her  unborn  child,  and 
implored  me  not  to  tell  her  brother.  Fortunately,  I 
had  directed  Denis  to  stay  in  the  entrance  hall,  so  he 
did  not  hear  his  sister's  confession,  and  she  was  safe 
for  the  time  being. 

"  While  I  was  talking  with  Mona,  my  wife  entered. 
She  immediately  accused  me  of  having  feigned  a  visit 
to  London  in  order  to  stay  at  home  with  Mona.     The 


A    VOICE  FROM    THE   GRAVE.  297 

girl  slipped  out  of  the  room,  and  my  wife  continued 
her  ravings.  She  said  that  Jeringham  had  come  home 
with  her  and  was  at  that  moment  in  the  garden;  there 
'she  swore  to  join  him.  I  prevented  her  leaving  the 
room,  and  ultimately  she  fainted.  I  ran  out  to  call 
Mona,  and  found  that  she  had  left  the  house,  no  doubt 
to  join  Jeringham  in  the  garden,  to  tell  him  that  the 
secret  was  known.  I  also  went  into  the  garden  to  seek 
for  Jeringham.  To  my  horror  I  stumbled  over  a  dead 
body,  and  hastily  ran  back  for  a  light  to  see  whose  it 
was.  Denis  came  with  the  lantern,  and  we  found  it 
was  the  corpse  of  Jeringham.  He  had  been  stabbed 
to  the  heart. 

"I  would  have  given  the  alarm,  but  that  Denis, 
quicker-witted  than  I  at  the  moment,  prevented  me. 
He  pointed  out  that  it  was  well-known  that  I  was  on 
bad  terms  with  Jeringham;  that  the  unhappy  man  had 
been  murdered  in  my  garden;  that  my  hands  were  red 
with  the  blood,  and  my  clothes  stained  owing  to  han- 
dling the  corpse;  and  said  that  I  would  be  accused  of 
the  murder.  I  saw  in  a  flash  the  peril  in  which  I  stood. 
I  don't  know  if  Denis  suspected  me  of  the  crime,  as  he 
was  not  present  when  I  first  found  the  body,  but  he 
acted  the  part  of  a  friend.  We  threw  the  body  into 
the  river  and  I  made  my  preparations  for  flight.  No 
one  but  Hilliston  and  Miss  Pike  knew  that  I  had 
returned  from  London  on  that  night,  for  my  wife 
would  keep  silence,  as  I  thought,  for  her  own  sake,  and 
Mona  had  disappeared.  I  left  the  house  in  charge  of 
Denis,  and  without  a  word  to  my  wife,  who  had 
brought  about  this  catastrophe,  I  sought  safety  in 
flight.  It  was  cowardly,  if  you  like,  but  I  had  no  other 
resource.     I  would  have  been  accused  of  the  murder 


298  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

had  I  stayed,  for  the  evidence  was  strong  against  me. 
I  fled  and  trusted  to  chance  to  hide  the  crime. 

"  The  rest  you  know.  My  wife  was  accused  and 
tried  for  my  murder,  as  Jeringham's  corpse  was  so 
disfigured  that  it  was  thought  to  be  mine.  I  have 
mentioned  the  strong  resemblance  between  us,  and 
this  helped  the  deception.  I  was  compelled  to  keep  in 
hiding  as  Jeringham,  but  I  declare,  had  the  case  gone 
against  my  wife,  I  should  have  come  forward  and  told 
all.  As  it  was  I  went  abroad,  aided  by  Hilliston,  who 
acted  as  my  friend  all  through.  He  looked  after  my 
unhappy  wife  till  she  died  in  London;  he  took  charge 
of  you  and  brought  you  up  like  a  son.  He  also 
secured  me  sufficient  of  my  own  property  to  live 
quietly,  so  I  came  to  Thorston  under  the  name  of 
Paynton,  and  here  I  have  lived  ever  since.  I  thought 
to  die  in  peace,  but  you,  Claude,  have  reopened  the 
case.  I  tell  you  this  to  show  you  the  futility  of  trying 
to  find  the  real  murderer.  I  do  not  know  who  killed 
Jeringham,  nor  do  I  think  you  will  ever  find  out.  If, 
after  reading  this,  you  still  consider  me  your  father, 
come  at  once  to  a  most  unhappy  man.  Be  just,  be 
lenient,   my  son,   and  forgive  your  unhappy  father, 

"George   Larcher." 


CHAPTER   XXXVIII. 

A    NEW    ASPECT    OF    THINGS. 

Tait  folded  over  the  last  sheet  of  this  long  letter 
with  a  sigh.  Although  he  was  pleased  for  Claude's 
sake  that  George  Larcher  was  still  in  the  land  of  the 
living,  yet  he  was  distinctly  disappointed  that  no  com- 
munication had  been  made  likely  to  elucidate  the  mys- 
tery. Yet  the  result  of  this  confession  was  an  entire 
displacement  of  the  point  whence  it  was  necessary  to 
survey  the  case.  The  motives  which  had  caused  the 
supposed  death  of  Larcher  would  not  suffice  to  explain 
the  death  of  Jeringham.  The  case  had  assumed  a  new 
aspect,  but  nevertheless  it  was  as  complex  and  inex- 
plicable as  ever.  Tait  thought  of  all  this  with  incon- 
ceivable rapidity,  but  did  not  give  utterance  to  his 
opinion  in  the  presence  of  his  friend. 

"The  letter  is  wonderful,  so  far,"  was  his  sole 
remark,  "but  it  is  a  great  pity  that  it  ends  so  abruptly. 
I  suppose  your  father  will  personally  relate  all  other 
details,  Claude,  when  you  see  him  again." 

The  young  man  assumed  a  sitting  position,  and 
deliberately  finished  his  wine  before  replying  to  this 
remark.  He  looked  anxious  and  disturbed,  and,  now 
that  he  had  recovered  from  the  overwhelming  sur- 
prise at  finding  his  father  alive,  seemed  less  delighted 
than  he  should  have  been.  A  miracle  had  been 
wrought  in  his  behalf;  the  dead  had  been  restored  to 

299 


300  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

life;  but  he  was  by  no  means  gratified  by  the  occur- 
rence. 

*'I  don't  know  whether  I  shall  see  my  father  again," 
he  said  shortly. 

**But,  my  dear  friend " 

**  Oh,  I  know  all  you  would  say,"  interrupted  Claude 
hastily,  with  a  frown;  "but  I  am  not  prepared  to  admit 
your  arguments.  My  mother  is  alive,  my  father  is  in 
existence,  yet  for  twenty-five  years  I  have  looked  on 
them  as  dead.  Can  you,  then,  wonder  that  I  feel  awk- 
ward toward  them  both;  that  I  am  by  no  means  dis- 
posed to  render  them  that  filial  affection  which,  you 
must  admit,  they  but  ill  deserve  ? " 

"  The  question  is  so  delicate  that  I  can  only  hold  my 
peace,"  said  Tait,  after  a  pause.  "I  admit  what  you 
say.     Still  they  are  your  own  flesh  and  blood." 

"I  might  answer  you  as  Hamlet  did  on  a  like 
occasion,"  replied  Claude,  with  a  bitter  smile;  "but  a 
quotation  will  not  mend  matters.  What  I  have  to  con- 
sider is  the  advisability  of  seeing  my  father  again." 

"You  must  certainly  see  him  again,"  said  the  other 
promptly. 
"Why?" 

"In  the  first  place  he  is  your  father,  whatever  you 
may  say,  and  in  the  second  you  had  better  tell  him 
personally  that  you  abandon  further  investigation  of 
the  case.  After  all,  your  object  is  gone;  for  though 
you  might  want  to  avenge  the  death  of  a  parent,  the 
murder  of  a  scamp  like  Jeringham  can  matter  nothing 
to  you." 

"Oh,  that  I  abandon  the  case  goes  without  speak- 
ing," said  Claude  quickly,  "and  you " 

"  I  act  in  the  same  way.     The  further  we  go  into  the 


A    NEW  ASPECT  OF    THINGS.  3OI 

case  the  more  perplexing  does  it  become.  It  is  beyond 
me.  Only  at  the  Last  Day  will  the  mystery  be  solved. 
Still,"  added  Tait  meditatively,  "I  must  admit  a 
curiosity  yet  exists  on  my  part  to  know  who  struck 
the  blow.  Of  course  your  father's  story  corroborates 
Dicky  rental's,  but  the  gardener  mistook  him  for 
Jeringham  by  reason  of  the  fancy  dress." 

"Does  this  letter  suggest  anything  to  you  ?" 

"It  narrows  the  field  of  inquiry,  that  is  all.  Your 
mother,  your  father,  and  Denis  Bantry  must  neces- 
sarily be  innocent,  as  they  were  in  the  house  when  the 
murder  took  place  in  the  garden." 

"  If  they  are  innocent,  who  is  guilty  ?  " 

"We  have  a  choice  of  two  who  were  outside  at  the 
time.  You  can  choose  between  Hilliston  and  Mona 
Bantry." 

"Mona  Bantry  kill  her  lover!  How  do  you  make 
that  out  ? " 

"  You  forget  your  father's  account  of  the  scene  in 
the  sitting  room,"  said  Tait  significantly;  "then  Mrs. 
Larcher  asserted  in  the  presence  of  Mona  that  she  had 
come  with  Jeringham,  furthermore,  that  he  was  in 
the  garden.  Mona,  also  jealous,  acts  as  any  other 
woman  would  have  done  in  such  a  position.  She  goes 
into  the  garden  to  demand  an  explanation;  there  is  a 
quarrel  between  her  and  Jeringham,  and  she  kills  him, 
then  flies,  not  to  hide  her  disgrace,  but  to  evade  the 
consequences  of  her  act.  That  is  a  feasible  theory, 
I  think." 

Claude  shook  his  head.  "  I  don't  agree  with  you," 
he  said  emphatically.  "You  forget  that  we  have  my 
mother's  account  of  the  matter  to  place  against  that 
of  my  father's.     If  you    recollect    she   also   admitted 


3° 2  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

finding  my  father  and  Mona  in  the  sitting  room;  she 
also  admits  fainting,  but  there  all  resemblance  between 
the  accounts  ceases.  My  mother  distinctly  says  that 
she  threatened  her  husband  with  the  dagger,  that  it 
fell  on  the  floor  when  she  lost  her  senses.  When  she 
recovered  them  the  dagger  was  gone.  Now,"  con- 
tinued Claude  slowly,  "if  you  remember,  the  crime  was 
committed  by  means  of  the  dagger,  for  it  was  found 
red  with  blood  in  the  grounds,  and  then  was  taken 
possession  of  by  the  police.  If  my  mother's  account 
is  the  true  one,  Mona  Bantry  may  certainly  have  picked 
up  the  dagger  and  have  murdered  Jeringham,  as  you 
suggest.  But  if  my  father's  story  is  to  be  believed, 
Mona  left  the  room  before  my  mother  fainted,  and 
consequently  could  not  have  gained  possession  of  the 
dagger.  It  follows  as  a  natural  consequence  that  she 
could  not  have  committed  the  murder." 

Tait  nodded  several  times  during  this  explanation,  to 
show  that  he  agreed  with  the  points  raised;  but  when 
Claude  concluded  he  rubbed  his  chin  in  some  perplexity. 

"  Here  we  come  to  a  dead  stop,"  said  he  impatiently. 
"It  was  asserted  by  the  police  that  the  murder  was 
committed  with  the  dagger  worn  by  your  mother  as 
part  of  the  fancy  dress." 

"Yes!  If  you  remember,  it  was  on  that  evidence 
she  was  arrested." 

"  Well,  if  she  wore  that  dagger  in  the  sitting  room, 
Jeringham  could  not  have  been  killed  with  it,  because 
the  murder  must  have  taken  place  while  your  father 
was  trying  to  pacify  your  mother." 

Claude  glanced  at  the  letter  again.  "My  father 
makes  no  mention  of  the  dagger  in  this,"  he  said,  with 
a  puzzled  look. 


A    NEW  ASPECT  OF    THINGS.  303 

*'No.  I  should  like  to  hear  what  he  has  to  say  on 
the  subject,  the  more  so  as  I  incline  to  his  story  rather 
than  to  your  mother's." 

"  For  what  reason  ?  " 

"  In  her  conversation  with  you,  Mrs.  Bezel — or  rather 
your  mother — said  that  she  had  threatened  your  father 
with  the  dagger  in  the  sitting  room  of  The  Laurels." 

''Yes.     Well?" 

"If  you  remember  the  evidence  given  by  her  to  the 
police  at  the  time  of  the  arrest  was  that  she  had  lost 
the  dagger  at  the  ball,  and  knew  not  into  whose  hands 
it  had  fallen." 

Claude  looked  nonplussed,  and  knew  not  what 
answer  to  make.  That  his  mother  had  made  two  dif- 
ferent statements  he  was  compelled  to  admit.  He 
further  remembered  that  his  father  had  made  no 
statement  whatsoever  about  the  dagger.  Yet  on  the 
possession  of  that  dagger  turned  the  whole  of  the  case. 
Whoever  picked  it  up,  whether  at  the  ball  or  in  the 
sitting  room,  must  have  killed  Jeringham.  Assuming 
his  father's  account  to  be  true,  and  Claude  saw  no 
reason  to  doubt  its  accuracy,  Mona  could  not  have 
committed  the  murder,  nor  could  Mr.  or  Mrs.  Larcher 
be  guilty.  It  therefore  followed  that  his  mother  had 
spoken  truly  to  the  police,  and  for  some  inexplicable 
reason  falsely  to  him.  The  dagger  must  have  been 
lost  at  the  ball,  and  picked  up  by — whom  ? 

"I  can  make  nothing  of  it,"  he  said,  after  due  con- 
sideration. "The  only  way  to  get  at  the  truth  is  to  tell 
my  father  that  his  wife  still  lives,  and  bring  them 
together.     Out  of  their  meeting  good  may  come." 

"You  will  then  call  and  see  your  father,"  said  Tait 
encouragingly. 


304  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

"Yes.  I  must.  I  see  no  way  out  of  it.  He  must 
be  informed  that  my  mother  lives,  and  I  am  the 
proper  person  to  tell  him  so.  Though  it  is  strange," 
added  Claude  suddenly,  ''that  Hilliston  never  told 
him." 

"Humph!  That  gentleman  seems  to  serve  both 
sides,"  said  Tait  gruffly.  "Your  mother  speaks  well 
of  him,  your  father  thinks  no  end  of  him,  and  both 
trust  him,  yet  for  what  I  can  see  he  has  deceived 
both." 

"How?" 

"  Why,  by  keeping  back  the  truth  from  each.  He 
has  let  your  father  think  your  mother  dead,  and  tice 
versa.      What  do  you  make  of  that  ?  " 

"  I  tell  you  I  can  make  nothing  of  the  whole  con- 
fusion," said  Claude  crossly.  "I  will  see  my  father 
and  abandon  the  case,  for  I  am  sick  of  the  affair.  It 
is  maddening.  What  a  pity  your  lunatic  did  not  wake 
up  a  few  minutes  earlier  so  as  to  see  who  struck  the 
blow  and  thus  have  settled  the  matter  ?  But  it  is  not 
that  which  troubles  me." 

"  No  ?     What  else  disturbs  your  mind  ?" 

"Jenny." 

"Jenny?"  echoed  Tait,  with  feigned  simplicity. 
"  I  am  afraid  I  am  dull.     I  don't  see." 

"You  must  be  blind,  then,"  retorted  Claude,  in  an 
exasperated  tone.      "You  know  I  love  Jenny." 

"Well?" 

"Well,  I  can't  love  her.     She  is  my  half  sister." 

"Indeed!"  said  Tait,  in  nowise  astonished  at  this 
announcement.      "  How  do  you  make  that  out  ?  " 

"Why,  isn't  Jenny  the  daughter  of  Paynton,  and 
isn't   he  my  father  ?  " 


A   NEW  ASPECT  OF   THINGS.  3^5 

*'He  is  your  father,  certainly,  but  I  assure  you 
Jenny  is  not  his  daughter.     She  is  no  relation  to  him." 

"Tait!  what  do  you  mean?" 

"  Can't  you  guess  ?" 

"No.  Out  with  it,  man!  Don't  keep  me  in  sus- 
pense." 

"Why,"  drawled  Tait,  enjoying  the  situation. 
"Jenny  is  the  niece  of  Denis — in  other  words,  she  is 
the  child  of  Mona  Bantry  and  Jeringham." 


CHAPTER   XXXIX. 

THE    GARNET    SCARFPIN. 

That  same  evening  Claude  called  to  see  his  father. 
He  decided  to  go  alone,  but  asked  Tait  to  repair  to 
Rose  Cottage  within  the  hour,  so  that,  the  meeting 
with  his  newly  found  parent  having  taken  place,  a  con- 
sultation could  be  held  by  the  three  regarding  the 
proceeding  with,  or  withdrawing,  of  the  case.  -Tail 
especially  stipulated  that  this  arrangement  should  be 
come  to,  as  he  was  desirous  of  seeing  Mr.  Larcher, 
senior,  in  order  to  disabuse  his  mind  of  the  straight- 
forwardness of  Hilliston.  Privately,  Tait  believed  that 
the  lawyer  would  yet  be  found  guilty  of  the  crime. 
On  no  other  grounds  could  he  explain  the  attitude 
taken  up  by  Hilliston  since  the  papers  had  been  placed 
in  Claude's  hands.  The  evidence  of  Miss  Pike  and 
Dick  Rental  failed  to  alter  his  idea  on  this  point. 

Tait  himself  was  beginning  to  feel  weary  of  the  in- 
vestigation. At  every  turn  it  took  he  was  baffled  by 
some  fresh  obstacle,  and  he  was  not  ill-pleased  to  find 
that  the  matter  was  at  an  end  so  far  as  Claude  was 
concerned.  That  young  man  had  sworn  to  avenge  the 
death  of  his  father;  but  now  that  his  father  proved  to 
be  still  in  existence,  the  oath  was  null  and  void.  So 
that,  Claude  married  to  Jenny,  he  would  be  quite  will- 
ing to  leave  the  solution  of  the  mystery  surrounding 
the  death    of    Jeringham    to    Tait;    but    Tait    himself 

306 


THE   GARNET  SCARFPIN.  307 

determined  to  have  nothing  further  to  do  with  so 
wearisome  a  problem. 

He  waited  considerably  beyond  the  hour  before 
leaving  for  the  cottage,  as  he  rightly  considered  the 
father  and  son  would  have  much  to  say  to  one  another. 
Moreover  it  was  necessary  to  give  Larcher  time  to 
overcome  his  emotion  on  learning  that  his  wife  was 
still  in  existence.  Tait  was  by  no  means  sure  that  the 
old  gentleman  would  be  pleased  with  this  revelation. 
According  to  his  own  showing  his  relations  with  his 
wife  had  been  none  of  the  best;  and  to  renew  those 
relations  after  twenty-five  years  could  hardly  fail  to  be 
most  unpleasant. 

During  this  time  Tait  gave  no  thought  to  Jenny  or 
Denis.  As  to  the  former,  he  was  so  satisfied  that  she 
was  the  daughter  of  Jeringham  by  Mona  Bantry  that 
he  did  not  think  it  worth  while  to  give  the  matter  the 
benefit  of  the  doubt.  What  he  was  curious  to  know 
was  how  Paynton,  or  rather  Captain  Larcher,  came  to 
stand  in  the  position  of  an  adopted  father.  Informa- 
tion on  this  point  was  conveyed  to  him  before  he 
reached  the  cottage  by  Denis  himself. 

The  old  servant  walked  briskly  along  the  road,  look- 
ing quite  rejuvenated.  He  had  heard  the  good  news, 
and  it  had  transformed  his  life.  In  place  of  a  crabbed 
expression,  his  face  appeared  wonderfully  cheerful,  and 
he  saluted  Tait  with  a  grin  of  pleasure.  The  other 
could  not  forbear  commenting  on  his  changed  appear- 
ance, so  clearly  apparent  even  in  the  waning  light  of 
evening. 

"Why,  Kerry,  you  look  ten  years  younger,"  he  said, 
stopping  short  in  his  amazement,  with  an  afterthought 
of  Dick  Pental's  accusation. 


3o8  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

''Ah,  and  I  do  that  same,  sir,"  said  Denis,  saluting 
in  mihtary  fashion,  **and  you  know  why,  sir." 

**Are  they  reconciled?"  asked  Tait,  guessing  what 
was  in  the  mind  of  the  old  servant. 

"Begad,  they  are!  Chattering  together  like  two 
love  birds,  and  my  old  master  looking  on  with 
pride." 

"Why,  Kerry,  I  spoke  of  Captain  Larcher." 

"  Augh,  did  you  now,  sir  ?  I  spoke  of  Master  Claude, 
God  bless  him,  and  Miss  Jenny,  God  bless  her!  God 
bless  them  both !  "  cried  Kerry,  taking  off  his  hat,  with 
a  burst  of  affection,  "  and  his  honor  along  with  them. 
Oh,  glory  be  to  the  saints  for  this  blessed  day.  But 
sure,  I  am  forgetting  my  service,  sir.  The  master  is 
waiting  to  see  you  this  very  minute." 

"  I  was  just  on  my  way,"  said  Tait,  signing  to  Kerry 
to  go  on.  "We  will  walk  there  together.  By  the 
way,  does  Miss  Jenny  know  she  is  not  the  daughter  of 
your  master  ? " 

"She  knew  it  all  along,  sir.  Ah,  and  why  should 
you  look  surprised  at  that,  Mr.  Tait  ?  Is  it  because 
she  is  the  niece  of  an  old  soldier  like  me  ?" 

"No,  no,  Kerry!  But,  as  you  are  aware.  Miss 
Jenny  knows  the  case  from  those  newspapers  she 
found;  and  in  that  report  Jeringham " 

"I  see  what  you  mean,  sir,"  said  Kerry,  touching 
his  hat  in  a  deprecating  manner;  "  but  sure  she  doesn't 
know  all.  She  believes  herself  to  be  the  child  of  my 
sister,  Mona — who  is  dead,  rest  her  soul,  and  of  a  Mr. 
Kennedy.  We've  invented  a  father  for  her,  sir. 
'Twould  never  do  for  her  to  know  she  was  the  daugh- 
ter of  the  poor  man  who  was  killed." 

"It   is   just    as   well,    Kerry.     Do   you   know   who 


THE   GARNET  SCARFPIN.  2P9 

killed    him  ? "     Tait  asked   this  question  with  a  keen 
glance  at  the  man. 

''No,  sir.  How  should  I  know.  I  ran  out  with  the 
light  when  the  captain  called,  but  I  don't  know  who 
struck  him  the  cruel  blow.  He  was  a  bad  man,  sir, 
deceiving  my  sister,  and  disgracing  the  Bantry  family, 
but  he  is  dead,  and  she  is  dead,  so  we'll  let  them  rest, 
and  the  heavens  be  their  bed!  " 

By  this  time  they  were  at  the  garden  door,  and 
striking  his  hand  over  these  sad  memories  Kerry  led 
the  visitor  into  the  house,  and  showed  him  into  the 
bookroom.  Here  were  assembled  Claude,  his  father, 
and  Jenny,  all  looking  supremely  happy,  though  the 
old  gentleman  appeared  to  be  rather  shaken.  He  rose 
when  Tait  entered  and  held  out  his  hand. 

"I  am  glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Tait,"  said  he,  in  an 
unsteady  voice,  "  and  I  thank  you  for  the  way  in  which 
you  have  aided  my  son.  I  feel  that  an  apology  is  due 
to  you  for  my  behavior  on  your  last  visit." 

''Don't  mention  it,"  replied  Tait  cordially,  shak- 
ing the  extended  hand.  "Under  the  circumstances 
you  could  not  act  otherwise.  Well,  Miss  Paynton,  am 
I  to " 

"Don't  call  me  Miss  Paynton  now,  Mr.  Tait,"  she 
said,  smiling;  "there  can  be  no  need  for  further  con- 
cealment.    I  can  take  my  own  name,  that  of " 

"  Miss  Kennedy,"  said  Tait  quickly.  "  Do  not  look 
so  surprised.  Kerry  told  me  all  about  it  as  I  came 
along.     I  am  at  once  astonished  and  delighted." 

"I  don't  wonder  at  it,"  said  Captain  Larcher,  pat- 
ting Claude's  hand.      "You  see  I  have  found  a  son." 

"And  soon,  sir,  you  will  lose  a  daughter,"  observed 
Tait  significantly. 


3IO  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

"Oh,  no,"  observed  Claude,  with  a  laugh;  "when  I 
marry  Jenny  we  will  all  live  together  as  a  happy  family. " 

"  Marriage!     Has  it  come  to  that  ? " 

"You  are  astonished,  i  see,  Mr.  Tait,"  said  the  old 
gentleman,  shaking  his  head.  "I  am  myself.  It  is 
too  soon — too  sudden.  They  have  only  known  each 
other  a  few  weeks,  and  it  is  impossible  that  a  union 
on  so  short  an  acquaintance  can  prove  happy." 

"We  will  have  a  long  engagement,"  said  Claude, 
"  in  order  to  prove  if  we  truly  love  one  another. 
But  I   am  not  afraid  of  the  result." 

"  Neither  am  I,"  remarked  Jenny,  slipping  her  arm 
within  that  of  her  lover.  "  I  am  sure  nothing  will 
come  between  us.  But  come,  Claude,  and  we  will  see 
my  uncle,  for  I  notice  that  Mr.  Tait  is  anxious  to 
speak  to  your  father  about   that  horrid   case." 

Captain  Larcher  nodded  his  approval  of  this,  so 
Claude  and  Jenny  left  the  room  to  seek  Kerry,  and  be 
wept  over  by  the  old  servant.  Left  alone  with  his 
host,  Tait  took  a  chair  by  the  table,  and  they  looked 
at  one  another  in  silence.  The  captain  was  the  first  to 
break  it. 

"  There  is  no  need  for  me  to  recapitulate  the  events 
of  the  day,"  he  said,  with  a  weary  sigh,  "as  Claude 
told  me  you  read  my  letter,  and  are  in  possession  of  all 
the  facts.  You  may  believe,  Mr.  Tait,  that  I  feel  con- 
siderably shaken.  My  interview  with  Claude  has  been 
rather  trying.  He  has  behaved  in  the  most  affectionate 
manner." 

"Well,  now  your  troubles  are  all  at  an  end.  Captain 
Larcher,  and " 

"At  an  end,  sir!"  he  interrupted  sharply.  "No, 
they  will  continue.     My  innocence  is  not  yet  proved, 


THE   GARNET  SCARFPIN.  311 

and  I  must  still  remain  here  under  a  feigned  name, 
unless  you  agree  to  help  me." 

"Certainly  I  agree.  Is  it  your  intention  and 
Claude's   to    go   on   with   the    case?" 

"We  have  come  to  that  decision,  but  I  wanted  to 
consult  you  before  finally  making  up  my  mind.  Do 
you  think  we  ought  to  proceed." 

"  I  certainly  do,"  said  Tait  promptly.  "  It  is  true 
that  the  police  think  that  you  are  the  victim.  But  if 
you  want  to  assume  your  own  name,  inquiries  would 
certainly  be  made.  One  is  never  safe  in  these  criminal 
matters,  even  after  the  lapse  of  years.  If  you  did 
declare  yourself  to  be  Captain  Larcher,  then  it  would 
come  out  that  Jeringham  is  dead,  and  you  would  have 
to  clear  yourself.  Besides,  the  evidence  of  Dicky 
Pental  would  implicate  you,  seeing  that  he  mistook  you 
in  that  fancy  dress  for  Jeringham." 

"True  enough,"  replied  Larcher,  nodding.  "And 
there  is  another  reason.  I  have  just  learned  that  my 
wife  is  still  alive,  and  is  protected  by  Hilliston  at 
Hampstead.  I  sent  Claude  out  of  the  room  so  that  I 
could  ask  you  a  plain  question.  Give  me  a  plain 
answer,  and  tell  me  what  are  the  relations  between 
them." 

"  I  don't  care  to  answer  that  plainly,"  said  Tait,  with 
some  hesitation;   "but  I  think  you  can  guess." 

"  Does  Hilliston  love  my  wife  ?" 

"On  the  authority  of  Miss  Belinda  Pike,  whom  I 
saw  at  Horriston,  I  believe  he  does." 

"And  for  her  sake  he  had  deceived  me  all  these 
years  ?  " 

"  It  seems  so.  In  fact,  Captain  Larcher,  Hilliston 
has  been  playing  a  double  game.     He  kept  you  and 


312  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

your  wife  apart  by  assuring  each  that  the  other  was 
dead.  That  conduct  alone  stamps  him  as  a  villain. 
Then,  again,  he  threw  all  kinds  of  obstacles  in  the 
way  while  we  were   investigating  this  case." 

"What  for  ?" 

**  My  own  opinion  is  that  Hilliston  committed  the 
murder." 

Captain  Larcher  clenched  his  hand,  and  thought  for 
a  few  moments. 

"It  might  be  so,"  he  muttered,  more  to  himself  than 
to  Tait.      "Hilliston  was  in  the  garden.     If  he  loved 
my  wife — a  fact  which   I  never  suspected — he  might 
"have  killed  Jeringham  out  of  jealousy." 

"  But  the  dagger!     How  did  he  obtain  that  ?  " 

"  No  doubt  at  the  ball.  I  assure  you,  Mr.  Tait, 
that  my  wife  had  not  the  dagger  when  in  the  sitting 
room." 

"She  declares  that  she  threatened  you  with  it." 

"Then  she  either  forgets  or  speaks  falsely.  She 
wore  it  at  the  ball  when  I  spoke  to  her  there,  but  when 
she  returned  it  was  missing.  Hilliston  came  with  me, 
knowing  Jeringham  was  with  my  wife.  He  might 
have  picked  up  the  dagger  with  the  fullest  intention 
of  committing  the  crime.  Now  that  I  know  he  loved 
my  wife  I  am  not  prepared  to  say  how  he  acted  in  the 
garden  while  I  was  in  the  house." 

"  And  the  garnet  scarfpin  mentioned  in  the  novel  ? " 

"That  belonged  to  Hilliston,"  said  Larcher  quickly. 
"  I  gave  it  to  him  myself.  Denis  picked  it  up  in  the 
garden,  but  I  thought  nothing  of  that,  as  I  was  aware 
Hilliston  was  in  the  grounds  on  that  night.     But  now 

I  believe Oh,  1  am  afraid  to  say  what  I  believe. 

I  may  be  wrong." 


THE   GARNET  SCARFPIN.  Z^Z 

"There  is  one  way  of  finding  out  the  truth,  Captain 
Larcher.  Come  up  to  town  this  week  and  see  your 
wife.     Then  we  may  learn  all." 

The  old  gentleman  leaned  his  head  on  his  hand  in 
deep  thought  for  a  few  minutes. 

"I  will  come,"  he  said  at  length.  ''At  whatever 
cost,  I  will  force  the  guilty  woman  to  own  the  truth." 


CHAPTER  XL. 

FACE   TO    FACE. 

The  conversation  between  Tait  and  Captain  Lar- 
cher  was  not  finished  that  evening,  as  the  old  gentle- 
man, worn  out  by  the  excitement  of  the  day,  early 
retired  to  bed.  However,  he  declared  that  he  would 
be  shortly  ready  to  journey  to  London;  and  Claude 
left  the  Cottage  with  Tait  on  the  understanding  that  his 
father  was  to  be  called  for  next  day.  Before  they  parted 
for  the  night  Claude  made  a  remark  about  Hilliston. 

"I  hope  he  won't  get  wind  of  this,"  he  said  dubi- 
ously; ''or  he  may  get  Mrs.  Bezel — I  can't  call  her 
mother — out  of  the  way." 

"Have  no  fear,"  replied  Tait  calmly.  "  Hilliston's 
hands  are  too  full  at  present." 

"What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"Why,"  said  Tait,  lighting  his  candle;  "your 
father  showed  me  a  letter  from  Hilliston,  apologizing 
for  not  coming  over,  as  his  wife  was  lying  dangerously 
ill  at  the  Connaught  Hotel,  at  Eastbourne." 

"He  said  something  of  that  in  his  note  to  me. 
What  is  the  matter  with  Mrs.  Hilliston  ?" 

"She  has  the  smallpox." 

"The  smallpox!"  echoed  Claude,  in  a  tone  of 
horror.      "Poor    creature,   she   is   a   dead    woman!" 

"I  don't  know  so  much  about  that.  She  may 
recover." 

"She  may  recover  from  the  disease,"  said  the  young 

314 


FACE    TO  FACE.  3 '5 

man  gloomily;  "but  not  from  the  blow  to  her  vanity. 
Many  a  time  has  she  told  me  that  if  she  lost  her 
looks  she  would  kill  herself.  You  mark  my  words, 
Tait,  within  the  week  we  will  hear  of  her  death." 

And  with  these  prophetic  words  Claude  retired  to 
his  room. 

Tait  had  no  time  to  think  of  this  conversation,  being 
occupied  with  anticipation  regarding  the  meeting  of 
Captain  Larcher  and  his  wife;  but  it  so  happened 
that  Claude's  prognostications  occurred  to  him  when 
the  truth  of  the  Horriston  tragedy  was  discovered,  and 
that  was  not  long  afterward.  Perhaps,  like  the  young 
men.  Fate  herself  grew  weary  of  an  affair  which  had 
dragged  on  for  twenty-five  years.  At  all  events  she 
brought  matters  to  a  conclusion  with  almost  incon- 
ceivable  rapidity. 

The  first  step  toward  the  end  was  the  meeting  of 
husband  and  wife,  which  took  place  at  Clarence  Cot- 
tage, Hampstead,  during  the  afternoon  of  the  next  day. 
In  company  with  his  son  and  Tait,  the  old  gentleman 
drove  to  the  railway  station,  some  three  miles  distant, 
and  took  the  up  express.  When  established  comfort- 
ably in  a  first-class  smoking  carriage — for  Captain  Lar- 
cher was  fond  of  a  pipe — he  resumed  the  conversation 
with  Tait  which  had  been  broken  off  on  the  previous 
night.  This  time  the  subject  was  Hilliston  and  his 
doings. 

"I  have  been  thinking  over  your  suspicions  regard- 
ing Hilliston,"  he  said,  addressing  himself  more  directly 
to  Tait,  "and  I  confess  that  it  is  difficult  to  reconcile 
some  of  his  actions  with  your  view  that  he  is  guilty. 
Claude,  as  you  know,  was  ignorant  of  the  Horriston 
tragedy  until  enlightened  by  Hilliston." 


3l6  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

"I  know  that,  my  dear  sir,"  said  Tait  quietly, 
*'Hilliston  certainly  placed  the  papers  containing  the 
account  of  the  matter  in  Claude's  hands,  but  he  was 
forced  to  do  so  by  the  action  of  Mrs.  Bezel— I  beg 
pardon,   Mrs.  Larcher." 

"Continue  to  call  her  Mrs.  Bezel,  if  you  please.  I 
prefer  it  so.  How  did  she  force  Hilliston  to  confide  in 
Claude." 

''Because  she  read  the  book  'A  Whim  of  Fate,' 
and  seeing  the  tragedy  therein  described,  she  wrote 
asking  Claude  to  see  her  with  the  intention  of  telling 
him  all.  As  you  may  guess,  her  story  differs  materially 
from  that  of  Hilliston's,  so  of  two  evils,  choosing  the 
least,  he  determined  to  forestall  her  and  inform  Claude 
of  the  matter." 

"  And  he  did  so  by  means  of  the  press,"  said  Claude 
eagerly.  "In  place  of  telling  me  the  story  himself  he 
allowed  me  to  gather  what  information  I  could  from 
the  scanty  report  of  the  Canterbury  Observer.  My  dear 
father,  the  Genesis  of  the  whole  matter  springs  from 
the  finding  of  those  papers  by  Jenny.  Had  she  not 
read  them  and  told  Linton  the  story  he  would  not  have 
written  the  book;  had  he  not  done  so  Mrs.  Bezel  would 
not  have  determined  to  tell  me  her  version;  and  but 
for  her  threat  to  do  so  Hilliston  would  not  have  pro- 
duced the  papers." 

"  Humph!  The  action  was  compulsory  on  the  part 
of  HilUston?" 

"I  think  so,  sir,"  said  Tait  complacently;  "there- 
fore it  is  quite  in  keeping  with  his  usual  character. 
The  rat  did  not  fight  till  it  was  driven  into  a  corner." 

"  It  is  not  in  the  corner,"  remarked  Captain  Larcher 
significantly,  "but  we'll  drive  it  there  and  see  if  it  will 


FACE    TO  FACE.  317 

face  our  accusation.  But  what  about  Hilliston's  intro- 
duction of  Claude  to  me  ?  Would  it  not  have  been  to 
his  interest  to  keep  us  apart  ? " 

**  Oh!  "  said  Tait,  with  some  contempt  for  Hilliston's 
diplomacy,  "that  was  another  case  of  necessity.  He 
knew  that  Claude  and  I  were  bent  on  discovering  the 
truth,  so,  fearing  that  we  should  do  so  by  further  inves- 
tigation, he  thought  to  stop  the  whole  matter  by  bring- 
ing you  face  to  face  with  your  son." 

"  I  don't  see  how  that  would  accomplish  his  aim." 

"  Hilliston  hoped  it  would  do  so  in  two  ways,"  ex- 
plained Tait  glibly.  "  First,  he  hoped  that  you  would 
give  your  consent  to  Claude  marrying  Jenny,  and  so 
lead  his  mind  away  from  the  case,  and  second,  he 
trusted  that  when  Claude  found  you  alive  he  would  no 
longer  desire  to  pursue  the  investigation." 

*'  He  was  right  so  far,"  said  Claude  seriously. 

*'  If  that  was  Hilliston's  calculation,  he  made  one 
great  mistake,"  said  Captain  Larcher  scornfully. 
"  He  did  not  think  that  I  should  wish  to  see  my  wife." 

"  He  must  have  been  satisfied  that  Claude  would  tell 
you  she  was  alive." 

"  That,  of  course.  But  he  thought  I  would  stay  at 
Thorston  as  Ferdinand  Paynton,  and  be  afraid  to  admit 
my  identity  even  to  my  wife.  I  might  have  done  so 
but  for  Claude.  But  I  owe  it  to  him  to  clear  myself, 
and  this  meeting  with  my  wife  will  be  the  first  step 
toward  doing  so.  Between  us  we  must  solve  the 
mystery." 

"It  is  none,  so  far  as  I  am  concerned,"  said  Tait 
grimly.  "  I  am  sure  as  I  am  sitting  here  that  Hilliston 
murdered  Jeringham.  The  gardener  was  just  too  late 
to  see  him  do  the  deed." 


31 8  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

"  But  his  motive  ?  "  asked  Claude  curiously. 

His  father  and  Tait  stole  a  glance  at  one  another. 
They  neither  of  them  wished  to  make  any  remarks 
about  Mrs.  Larcher  and  Hilliston's  passion,  preferring 
that  Claude  should  be  ignorant  of  that  episode.  Still 
when  he  asked  so  direct  a  question  it  was  difificult  to 
avoid  a  direct  answer,  but  Larcher  gave  him  one  which 
was  sufficiently  evasive  to  stop  further  inquiries. 

"We  must  try  and  find  out  his  motive,"  he  said 
quietly.  "Depend  upon  it,  Claude,  there  is  a  good 
deal  of  underhand  work  in  this  of  which  we  know 
nothing." 

*'  Do  you  think  Mona  committed  the  crime  ?  " 

**  No,  I  do  not.  In  no  way  could  she  have  gained 
possession  of  the  dagger  with  which  it  was  committed." 

"  My  mother  says  she  had  a  dagger  in  the  sitting 
room." 

"  That  is  a  mistake,"  said  Captain  Larcher,  using  as 
delicate  a  word  as  he  could  think  of.  "  She  threatened 
me  with  the  sheath  of  the  dagger,  and  no  doubt,  being 
agitated  at  the  time,  she  thought  it  was  the  weapon 
itself.  But  I  noticed  when  she  entered  the  room  that 
the  sheath  was  empty.  Her  story  to  the  police  at  the 
time  of  the  trial  is  more  likely.  She  lost  it  in  the  ball- 
room. The  question  is,  who  picked  it  up  ?  Judging 
from  the  knowledge  I  now  have  of  his  character  I  be- 
lieve it  was  Hilliston  who  did  so." 

"Or  Jeringham,"  said  Tait  suddenly. 

"Impossible!     How    could    Jeringham    have   found 

it?" 

■'He  was  with  Mrs.  Larcher  all  the  evening,  and 
may  have  seen  the  dagger  fall.  Or  again,  he  may 
have  taken  it  out  of  the  sheath  to  examine  it  and  have 


"      FACE    TO  FACE.  3^9 

forgotten  to  return  it.  It  is  not  improbable  tliat  in 
such  a  case  he  might  have  recollected  it  when  he  was 
in  the  garden,  and  offered  it  to  Mona  to  return  to  her 
mistress." 

"  Oh  ! "  said  Claude  with  contempt.  "  And  on  that 
slight  ground  you  suppose  that  Mona  killed  him  ?  " 

"It  is  not  beyond  the  bounds  of  probability." 

"Nonsense!"  said  Captain  Larcher  angrily.  "I 
don't  believe  it.  Mona  was  a  good  girl,  foully  de- 
ceived by  Jeringham.  She  fled  from  the  house  to  hide 
her  disgrace,  thinking  my  wife  would  tell  her  brother. 
Hilliston  afterward  met  her  in  London,  where  she 
died  in  giving  birth  to  Jenny." 

"  Then  it  was  Hilliston  who  brought  Jenny  to  you  ?" 

"Yes.  Because  her  Uncle  Denis  was  in  my  service. 
I  adopted  Jenny,  but  told  her  that  she  was  the  child  of 
a  Mr.  Kennedy  and  Mona  Bantry.  She  believed  her 
father  and  mother  were  married,  so  do  not  disturb  that 
view  of  the  case." 

"  Certainly  not,"  said  Tait  emphatically.  "It  would 
be  cruel  to  do  so.  But  here  we  are  at  Victoria. 
After  seeing  Mrs.  Bezel  at  Hampstead  we  can  resume 
our  conversation." 

"If  we  do  it  will  be  from  a  different  standpoint,  I 
fancy,"  said  Larcher  significantly,  as  the  train  stopped. 

Tait's  brougham  was  waiting  for  them  at  the  station, 
and  in  this  they  drove  up  to  Hampstead.  Leaving  it 
in  Fitzjohn's  Avenue  they  walked  down  Hunt  Lane 
to  Clarence  Cottage.  Mrs.  Bezel  occupied  her  usual 
seat  in  the  window,  and  caught  sight  of  Claude  as  he 
preceded  his  father  and  Tait  up  the  path.  A  terrified 
expression  crossed  her  face,  but  she  made  no  motion 
to  forbid  their  entrance.     Yet  a  senso  of  coming  evil 


320  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

Struck  at  her  heart,  and  it  needed  all  her  self-control 
CO  prevent  herself  from  fainting  when  they  were  shown 
into  the  room. 

'*  My  dear  mother,"  said  Claude,  kissing  her,  "you 
must  be  prepared  for  unexpected  news.  I  beg  of  you 
to  control  yourself  for " 

He  stopped  short  in  astonishment.  Mrs.  Bezel  was 
looking  at  Captain  Larcher  with  a  bewildered  air,  and 
he  gazed  at  her  face  with  an  expression  of  amazement. 
She  shrank  back  as  he  crossed  the  room  with  rapidity, 
and  bent  over  her. 

"Mona  Bantry!"  he  cried,  "is  it  possible  that  you 
still  live  ?  " 


CHAPTER  XLI. 

* 

AN    EXPLANATION. 

On  hearing  his  father's  exclamation  Claude  turned 
round  with  a  look  of  supreme  astonishment.  He 
could  not  understand  the  meaning  of  that  sudden 
exclamation. 

"Father,  you  do  not  understand.  This  is  your 
wife — my  mother." 

"Is  it,  indeed  ?"  sneered  Captain  Larcher,  who  had 
recovered  from  his  momentary  emotion.  "Nothing 
of  the  sort,  sir.  This  woman  is  Mona  Bantry,  who 
was  my  wife's  maid." 

"  Are  you  sure  ?  "  cried  Tait,  who  was  beginning  to 
be  bewildered  by  these  successive  revelations. 

"Sure,  sir!  as  sure  as  I  am  of  my  own  innocence. 
As  sure  as  I  am  George  Larcher,  this  is  the  sister  of 
Denis  Bantry,  who " 

"Denis!" 

The  interruption  came  from  Mrs.  Bezel.  She  had 
sat  dumfounded  at  the  unexpected  appearance  of  the 
man  whom  she  had  thought  dead,  and  she  had  said 
nothing  while  assertion  and  denial  were  going  on,  but 
the  mention  of  her  brother's  name  stirred  her  dormant 
faculties,  and  she  sat  up  looking  wildly  around. 

"  Denis  !  "  she  cried,  in  a  terrified  tone.  "  Is  Denis 
here?" 

"Denis  is  down  at  Thorston,"  said  Captain  Larcher 
gruffly,  "as  you  no  doubt  knew  well  enough." 

321 


322  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

"  I  swear  I  did  not.  Francis  told  me  Denis  was  in 
America." 

*'  Francis  ?  "  exclaimed  Claude,  forgetting  to  whom 
the  name  belonged. 

"Francis  Hilliston." 

**  Ah!  "  said  Captain  Larcher,  with  a  disdainful  look 
round.  '*  I  might  have  guessed  as  much.  Off  with 
the  dead  love,  on  with  the  living.  You  have  amended 
the  proverb." 

"I  did  not  know  Mark  was  dead,  sir,"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Bezel  passionately.  "  Francis  said  that  he  had 
gone  to  America  with  Denis.  I  thought  he  had  done 
so  to  escape  the  consequences  of  his  crime,  but " 

"Of  his  crime!"  cried  Claude.  "He  was  the 
victim,  poor  soul,  not  the  murderer.  It  was  Jering- 
ham  who  was  killed,  not  my  father." 

"  Your  father?"  said  Mrs.  Bezel,  looking  steadily  at 
Captain  Larcher.  "Yes;  it  is  my  old  master.  So 
you  are  alive  and  he  is  dead.  Why  did  you  kill  him, 
sir  ? " 

"I  did  not  kill  him,"  replied  the  captain  quietly, 
"and  as  a  counter  question,  may  I  ask  why  you  passed 
yoCirself  off  to  Claude  as  my  wife  ?" 

Mrs.  Bezel  burst  into  a  wild  laugh,  and  clapped  her 
hands  together.  Then  she  covered  her  face  and 
commenced  to  weep,  but  in  a  few  moments  the  fit  of 
hysteria  passed  away,  and  she  became  cool  and  com- 
posed. Thrown  off  her  balance  for  the  time  being, 
she  had  now  gathered  her  wits  together, and  was  ready 
to  fight.  Her  folly  and  impulse  had  brought  about 
this  catastrophe,  and  it  was  her  duty  to  set  it  right 
again — if  she  could.  But  the  upshot  of  the  matter  was 
extremely  doubtful. 


AN  EXPLANATION.  32.3 

On  his  part,  Captain  Larcher  was  relieved  to  find 
that  Mrs.  Bezel  proved  to  be  Mona  Bantry  instead  of 
his  wife.  Ever  since  the  communication  made  by 
Claude,  he  had  suffered  agonies  at  the  thought  that 
his  wife  had  been  living  all  these  years  under  the  pro- 
tection of  his  false  friend.  Now  that  fear  was  set  at 
rest  once  and  forever.  Julia  Larcher  had  really  died, 
as  Hilliston  had  asserted,  and  the  woman  in  Clarence 
Cottage,  who  had  taken  her  name,  was  the  maid  in 
place  of  the  mistress.  Out  of  all  the  trouble  Larcher 
extracted  this  morsel  of  comfort,  his  honor  was 
unstained. 

Meanwhile  the  three  visitors  sat  waiting  to  hear 
what  Mrs.  Bezel  had  to  say.  She  saw  that  they  ex- 
pected a  confession,  and  resolved  to  disappoint  them. 
Leaning  backward  among  her  cushions,  she  closed  her 
eyes,  and  played  a  waiting  game.  It  proved  success- 
ful, for  in  two  minutes  or  thereabouts  Captain  Larcher 
broke  out.  His  temper  was  none  of  the  best,  and 
recent  events  had  not  tended  to  improve  it." 

"Well,  madam,"  he  said  sharply,  rapping  his  stick 
on  the  ground,  "  I  am  waiting  to  hear  what  you  have 
to  say." 

"I  have  nothing  to  say,"  said  Mrs.  Bezel  quietly. 

"Oh,  yes,  you  have,"  began  Tait.  "  As  you  set  the 
ball " 

But  at  this  moment  he  was  interrupted  by  Larcher. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Tait,  but  I  will  question 
this. woman  myself.  Pray  do  not  speak,  nor  you, 
Claude,  till  I  have  done." 

Both  young  men  bowed  their  heads  and  acquiesced 
in  silence.  After  all,  the  captain  was  the  proper  person 
to  examine  Mona  Bantry.      He  knew  niore  of  the  case 


324  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

than  anyone  else,  and  conversant  as  he  was  with  the 
events  of  that  fatal  night,  he  would  know  whether  she 
spoke  truly  or  falsely.  Mrs.  Bezel  looked  uneasy  on 
hearing  his  resolution,  but  only  compressed  her  lips 
tighter  as  though  resolved  to  let  nothing  escape  her. 
But  he  was  a  match  for  her  in  obstinacy. 

"  Now  then,"  said  Larcher,  turning  to  her,  "relate 
your  history  from  the  moment  you  left  me  alone  with 
my  wife  twenty-five  years  ago  at  The  Laurels." 

"  It  would  not  help  you  if  I  did." 

"  I'm  not  so  sure  of  that.  But  I  understand.  You 
are  afraid  of  incriminating  yourself." 

"I!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Bezel  indignantly.  "What 
have  I  to  do  with  the  matter.  I  know  nothing  of  it. 
I  left  the  house  then  and  there,  and  only  heard  of  the 
tragedy  while  I  was  concealed  at  Horriston,  more  than 
a  week  afterward." 

"Why  did  you  state  to  my  son  that  Mrs.  Larcher 
threatened  me  with  the  dagger." 

"  So  she  did,"  said  Mrs.  Bezel  coolly.  "  I  saw  her 
hand  raised,  I  saw  the  dagger  in  it." 

"You  saw  the  sheath  of  the  dagger,  you  mean," 
retorted  Larcher;  "it  fell  on  the  floor  and  was  found 
there  next  day.  But  the  weapon  with  which  the  crime 
was  committed  was  lost  by  my  wife  at  the  ball." 

"  It  may  have  been,"  said  the  woman  indifferently. 
"  I  don't  know  anything  about  it." 

"  Did  not  Jeringham  show  it  to  you  when  you  joined 
him  in  the  garden  ?  " 

"  I  tell  you  I  did  not  see  him  on  that  night.  When 
you  found  out  my  secret,  I  was  afraid  that  you  and 
the  mistress  would  betray  it  to  my  brother  Denis,  so  I 
left  the  room  and  fled.     I   thought  Jeringham  would 


AN  EXPLANATION.  325 

join  me  at  Horriston  next  day,  but  then  I  heard  of 
your  supposed  death,  and  that  he  had  fled.  Until  this 
hour  I  did  not  know  that  it  was  the  other  way  round." 

"  Did  not  Hilliston  tell  you  ?     He  knew." 

"No,  Captain  Larcher,  he  did  not,"  said  Mrs.  Bezel 
emphatically.  "  He  said  that  Jeringham  had  gone  to 
America  with  my  brother." 

"  Where  did  you  go  after  leaving  Horriston  ?  " 

"  I  came  to  London,  and  remained  there  till  my  baby 
was  born." 

"And  then?" 

"  I  found  that  my  money  had  come  to  an  end,  and 
called  at  Mr.  Hilliston's  office  to  ask  him  to  help  me." 

"  What  right  had  you  to  expect  help  from  him." 

"  I  had  no  right,  but  that  I  knew  he  would  assist  me 
because  of  his  love." 

"His  love!"  exclaimed  Larcher  sharply.  "Did 
Hilliston  love  you?" 

"  Yes;  I  refused  to  have  anything  to  do  with  him  on 
account  of  Jeringham.  But  he  did  love  me.  Oh,  yes, 
I  know  you  thought  he  was  in  love  with  your  wife,  but 
such  was  not  the  case.     He  loved  me,  and  me  only." 

Larcher  drew  a  long  breath,  and  looked  puzzled. 
He  was  relieved  to  find  that  he  had  not  been  mistaken 
in  Hilliston,  after  all,  yet  the  assertion  of  Mrs.  Bezel 
only  seemed  to  further  complicate  the  case.  If  Hillis- 
ton did  not  love  Mrs.  Larcher,  what  possible  motive 
could  he  have  to  kill  Jeringham  ?  The  looks  of 
Claude  and  Tait  reflected  his  perplexity;  but  dismiss- 
ing this  special  point  for  the  moment,  he  pursued  his 
examination. 

"  How  did  Hilliston  receive  you  ? " 

Mrs.  Bezel  looked  around  with  a  bitter  smile.     Her 


326  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

meaning  was  clear  from  the  contemptuous  expression 
on  her  face. 

"  Can  you  not  guess  from  what  you  see  here  ?"  she 
said  quietly.  "  Francis  Hilliston  bought  me.  He 
loved  me  well  enough,  but  not  sufficiently  to  marry 
me.  He  did  not  ruin  me,  for  I  was  already  ruined. 
I  accepted  his  offer  to  come  here  and  be  his  mistress. 
What  else  could  I  do  ?  I  was  alone  in  London.  I  was 
friendless.  I  believed  that  my  lover  and  my  brother 
had  fled  to  America.  I  could  not  return  to  Horriston 
lest  I  might  be  involved  in  the  tragedy  at  The  Laurels. 
I  did  what  any  other  woman  would  have  done,  and 
made  the  best  of  a  bad  business.  I  accepted  the  love 
and  protection  of  Francis  Hilliston.  The  protection 
still  continues,  as  you  see — the  love,  that  is  dead  and 
done  with." 

*'I  see  you  are  thinking  of  Louisa  Sinclair,"  inter- 
posed Tait  quietly. 

<*What  do  you  know  of  Louisa  Sinclair?"  asked 
Mrs.  Bezel,  with  a  violent  start. 

"Everything,  thanks  to  you,"  answered  Tait. 
"  Your  letter  put  the  clew  into  my  head.  I  went  to 
Horriston;  I  saw  a  portrait  of  Miss  Sinclair.  I  know 
that  she  went  to  America  after  the  tragedy,  and 
returned  as  Mrs.  Derrick,  rich  and  beautiful,  to  marry 
Hilliston." 

"Ah,  you  know  that  much.  Yes!  Louisa  Sinclair 
is  my  rival!  Ten  years  ago  she  came  back  to  England 
and  wanted  Francis  to  marry  her.  I  fell  ill — I  became 
paralyzed.  He  forgot  me,  he  forgot  my  love,  and  she 
became  his  wife.  Oh,  how  I  hate  her!  I  hate  him. 
It  was  on  that  account  that  I  wrote  to  you,  Claude,  to 
reveal  all." 


AN  EXPLANATION.  327 

**  You  then-  acted  out  of  revenge!  " 

"Yes,  I  did!"  said  Mrs.  Bezel  sullenly.  "Look 
at  me,  a  wreck;  look  at  her,  his  wife,  rich  and  hand- 
some and  healthy." 

"  Not  healthy,  poor  soul,"  said  Claude.  "  She  is  ill 
with  the  smallpox." 

"With  the  smallpox,"  echoed  Mrs.  Bezel  joyfully. 
"I'm  glad  of  it!  I'm  glad  of  it!  Her  beauty  will 
depart,  as  mine  has  done.  Then  Francis  may  come 
back  to  me." 

"You  love  him  still? "asked  Captain  Larcher,  in 
wonderment. 

"  Too  well  to  ruin  him.  You  want  me  to  accuse  him 
of  the  crime,  but  I  tell  you  he  is  innocent;  he  knows 
nothing." 

"  He  was  in  the  garden  alone  on  that  night.  None 
other  but  he " 

"He  was  not  alone,"  cried  Mrs.  Bezel  sharply. 
"Louisa  Sinclair  was  with  him.  Yes,  she  followed 
him  from  the  ball  because  she  was  jealous  of  me.  In 
my  flight  I  passed  her  at  the  gate.  She  had  a  cloak 
over  her  dress,  but  I  saw  that  it  was  the  costume  of 
Mary,  Queen  of  Scots." 

"And  you  knew  her  by  that  ?  " 

"  Partly.  My  mistress  told  me  that  Miss  Sinclair 
had  a  similar  costume  to  her  own,  for  she  was  very 
angry  about  it.  But  I  saw  her  face  as  I  fled.  She 
may  know  who  killed  Jeringham.  I  do  not.  Hilliston 
does  not.  Now,  I  have  told  you  all.  Go  away  and 
leave  me.     I  speak  no  more." 

"First  tell  us  why  you  declared  yourself  to  be  my 
mother  ?"  said  Claude  sharply. 

"  For  safety.     I  regretted  that  I  had  told  you;  that 


328  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

I  had  forced  Hilliston  into  defending  himself.  I  was 
afraid  lest  you  should  learn  too  much  and  denounce  me 
as  the  criminal.  So  long  as  you  thought  I  was  your 
mother  you  would  not  dare  to  do  so,  and  therefore 
I  told  you  I  was  Mrs.  Larcher." 

**  One  last  word,"  said  Captain  Larcher,  rising  to  his 
feet.      ''  Your  child.     What  became  of  it  ?" 

'*  Hilliston  took  it  away,"  said  Mrs.  Bezel,  in  a 
melancholy  tone.  ''  I  was  ill  at  the  time  and  he  over- 
came my  scruples.  I  don't  know  where  my  child  is. 
Often  and  often  have  I  wanted  to  see  her  again,  but 
Francis  has  always  refused.     Oh,  where  can  she  be  ?  " 

*'  I  can  tell  you." 

**  You  ?  "  cried  Mrs.  Bezel,  starting  up  in  amazement. 

"Yes.  Your  daughter  Jenny  was  brought  by  Hillis- 
ton to  me.  I  adopted  her  as  my  child,  and  she  is  now 
at  Thorston  with  her  Uncle  Denis — your  brother." 

Mrs.  Bezel  tried  to  speak,  but  could  not.  With  a 
wild  glance  around  she  heaved  a  long  sigh  and  fainted. 
The  joy  of  hearing  that  her  child  was  alive  proved  too 
much  for  her  enfeebled  frame. 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

THE    TRAGEDY    OF    A    WOMAN's    VANITY. 

Meantime  Hilliston,  unaware  of  that  fatal  meeting 
with  Mona  Bantry,  which  threatened  to  demoralize  his 
plans,  was  devoting  himself  to  his  unfortunate  wife. 
She  was  very  ill,  and  not  expected  to  recover,  so  feel- 
ing that  he  would  soon  lose  her,  the  lawyer  stayed  con- 
stantly by  her  side,  and  strove,  though  unsuccessfully, 
to  ameliorate  her  cruel  sufferings.  It  was  all  the  more 
credit  to  him  that  he  did  so,  as  he  had  married  her 
mainly  for  her  money,  and  was  still  in  love  with  Mrs. 
Bezel.  No  doubt,  remorse  had  something  to  do  with 
his  present  attitude. 

The  landlord  of  the  Connaught  Hotel  had  insisted 
upon  Mrs.  Hilliston  being  removed  when  the  first 
symptoms  of  disease  showed  themselves.  He  declared 
that  were  it  known  that  he  had  a  smallpox  patient  in 
his  house,  he  would  be  ruined  for  the  season,  so  Hillis- 
ton, recognizing  the  truth  of  this  assertion,  took  steps 
to  isolate  his  wife,  as  was  necessary  from  the  nature 
of  her  illness.  Assisted  by  the  doctor,  who  attended 
to  all  details  relative  to  the  municipal  authorities,  he 
hired  a  small  house  on  the  outskirts  of  Eastbourne,  and 
thither  the  wreck  of  what  had  once  been  a  beautiful 
woman  was  removed  one  evening.  Nurses  were  hired 
from  London,  Hilliston  sent  word  to  his  partner  that 

329 


330  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

he  would  not  return  to  business  for  some  weeks;  and 
then  began  the  slow  martyrdom  of  the  sickroom. 

It  was  a  fortnight  since  Mrs.  Hilliston  had  been 
seized  with  the  disease,  and  now  it  had  taken  so  favor- 
able a  turn  that  the  doctor  held  out  great  hopes  that 
she  would  recover.  But  the  beauty  of  which  she  had 
been  so  proud  was  gone,  and  with  it  went  the  hopes 
that  she  could  still  retain  her  husband  by  her  side. 
Mrs.  Hilliston  knew  well  enough  that  it  was  only  her 
persistence  which  had  made  Hilliston  marry  her,  and 
now  that  she  had  lost  her  good  looks — the  one  hold  she 
had  on  his  lukewarm  affection — she  foresaw  only  too 
clearly  that  he  would  neglect  her  in  the  future.  More- 
over, the  woman's  vanity  was  so  powerful  that  she 
could  not  accept  calmly  the  possibility  of  surviving,  a 
scarred  and  maimed  object,  to  face  looks  of  pity  and 
of  horror.  She  felt  that  she  would  rather  die,  and  in 
fact  resolved  to  do  so.  Meanwhile  she  tossed  and 
turned,  and  moaned  and  wept  on  her  sick  bed;  crying 
out  against  the  stern  Fate  which  had  dealt  her  such 
hard  measure.  Yet  in  her  secret  soul  she  admitted 
that  the  punishment  was  just. 

Hilliston  was  scarcely  less  unhappy  than  his  wife. 
While  her  illness  was  serious,  he  had  thought  of 
nothing  but  how  to  save  her,  but  now  that  a  chance  of 
recovery  offered  a  respite  from  his  arduous  attendance 
by  the  sick  bed,  he  had  time  to  turn  his  thoughts 
toward  the  Horriston  tragedy.  He  wondered  that  he 
had  not  heard  from  Paynton  relative  to  the  interview 
with  Claude,  and,  fearful  lest  some  untoward  event  had 
occurred  to  upset  his  plans,  he  wrote  to  Rose  Cottage 
asking  for  information.  To-day  he  had  received  a 
reply,  and  on  reading  it  saw  his  worst  fears  realized. 


THE    TRAGEDY  OF  A    WOMAN'S    VANITY.      331 

"I  know  you  now  [wrote  Captain  Larcher  briefly]. 
I  have  seen  Claude;  I  have  seen  Mona.  Henceforth 
I  look  upon  you  as  an  enemy,  and  I  intend  to  take 
immediate  steps  to  clear  my  name  at  your  expense." 

There  was  no  signature,  but  Hilliston  was  too  well 
acquainted  with  his  friend's  writing  to  have  any  doubt 
as  to  the  genuineness  of  the  letter.  The  blow  had 
fallen;  Mona  had  betrayed  him,  and  he  sat  there  help- 
less, with  the  letter  in  his  hand,  a  spectacle  of  baffled 
scheming,  of  unmasked  villany. 

"To  clear  his  name  at  my  expense,"  muttered 
Hilliston  to  himself.  "What  does  he  mean  by  that? 
He  cannot  have  discovered — but  no,  that  is  impossible. 
When  they  find  out  who  picked  up  that  dagger  at  the 
ball,  they  may  learn  the  truth,  but  not  till  then.  I 
defy  them  all.  Larcher  will  remain  Paynton  till  the 
end  of  his  life.  Mona!  Ah,  I  shall  punish  her  when 
I  return  to  town  for  her  cruel  treachery." 

While  he  was  thus  thinking,  a  nurse  entered  the 
room  to  intimate  that  Mrs.  Hilliston  would  like  to 
see  him.  The  lawyer  obeyed  the  summons  at  once, 
placed  Larcher's  letter  in  his  pocket,  smoothed  his 
brow,  and  entered  the  sickroom.  Signing  to  the 
nurse  to  go  away,  Mrs.  Hilliston  waited  till  she  was 
alone  with  her  husband. 

"Francis,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice,  stretching  out 
her  hand,  "  I  wish  to  speak  to  you — on  that  subject." 

"I  think  it  would  be  wise  if  you  refrained  from 
doing  so,"  replied  Hilliston,  knowing  to  what  she 
alluded.  "We  understand  one  another  on  that  point; 
you  can  do  no  good  by  bringing  it  up  again.  Why 
should   you  ^ " 


33^  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

"For  Claude's  sake,"  said  Mrs.  Hilliston  feverishly. 
**You  owe  him  some  reparation." 

"I  owe  him  none,  Louisa.  I  have  acted  like  a 
father  to  him,  and  he  has  turned  on  me.  I  helped 
Larcher  to  hide  himself  when  it  was  dangerous  for 
him  to  become  known,  and  he  tells  me  that  I  am  his 
enemy." 

"  Have  you  heard  from  him  ?  " 

*'  I  received  a  curt  note  of  three  lines  intimating 
that  he  was  about  to  assert  his  innocence,  and  clear 
his  name  at  my  expense." 

**  Francis,"  cried  Mrs.  Hilliston,  in  a  tone  of  terror, 
"you  are  lost!     If  all  is  known " 

"All  will  not  be  known,"  replied  Hilliston,  patting 
her  hand;  "  only  two  people  know  the  truth — you  and 
I.     We  can  keep  our  own  counsel." 

"But  that  little  man,  Tait,  is  at  Horriston." 

"What  of  that?" 

"He  will  see  Belinda  Pike  there.  You  know  how 
she  hated  me  because  I  loved  you.  She  wanted  to 
marry  you  herself.  If  he  meets  Miss  Pike  she  will 
speak  against  me." 

"What  of  that?"  said  Hilliston  soothingly.  "You 
forget,  my  dear,  that  your  life  is  different  now.  No 
one  can  find  Louisa  Sinclair  in  Louisa  Hilliston. 
When  you  went  to  America  you  vanished  and  returned 
as  Mrs.  Derrick,  the  rich  widow.  Belinda  Pike  can 
never  learn  that.  My  dear,  you  distress  yourself  sud- 
denly.    We  are  perfectly  safe." 

"But  the  garnet  scarfpin,"  questioned  Mrs.  Hillis- 
ton feverishly. 

"I  am  secure  on  that  point.  Larcher  knew  that  I 
was  in  the  garden  on  that  night,  and  may  have  thought 


THE    TRAGEDY  OF  A    WOMAN'S    VANITY.       333 

I  dropped  it.  He  will  not  dare  to  accuse  me  of  the 
crime.  If  he  did,"  continued  Hilliston,  his  brow 
growing  black,  "I  could  turn  the  tables  on  him  in  a 
manner  he  little  expects.  There  is  more  evidence 
against  him  than  against  me." 

"But  if  they  learn  that  I  was  with  you  on  that 
night  ? " 

"They  will  never  learn.  No  one  saw  you  there. 
If  they  did,  what  does  it  matter  ?  Louisa  Sinclair  is 
dead.  You  need  have  no  fear  of  being  recognized. 
I'll  answer  for  that." 

"It  does  not  matter  to  me  if  I  am  known  or  not," 
said  Mrs.  Hilliston  gloomily;  "I  have  done  with 
life." 

"  My  dear,  the  doctor  says  you  will  recover." 

"I  shall  not  recover,"  said  the  sick  woman,  with 
emphasis.  "Oh,  do  not  deceive  yourself,  Francis! 
I  shall  never  rise  from  this  sick  bed  to  be  an  object 
of  horror  and  pity  to  you." 

"  My  dear " 

"You  never  loved  me.  You  only  married  me  out 
of  pity.  At  Horriston  you  refused  to  make  me  your 
wife,  and  it  was  only  when  I  returned  from  America 
a  rich  woman  that  you  did  so.  Pity,"  she  said,  with 
a  scornful  laugh,  "no,  not  pity,  but  necessity.  You 
would  have  been  ruined  but  for  my  money." 

"I  admit  it,  Louisa,  and  I  am  deeply  grateful  to 
you  for  the  way  in  which  you  have  helped  me.  I  can 
never  repay  you  for  saving  my  name  and  credit." 

"  You  can,  Francis.     Get  me  my  dressing  case." 

"  Louisa,  you  cannot " 

"  I  insist  upon  being  obeyed,"  she  said  imperiously. 
"Get  me  my  dressing  case." 


334  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

With  great  reluctance  he  brought  it  from  a  distant 
table  and  placed  it  on  a  chair  by  the  bedside.  In 
obedience  to  her  directions  he  opened  it,  and  took 
therefrom  a  sealed  envelope. 

"In  there,"  she  said,  as  he  held  it  in  his  hand,  "is 
an  account  of  all  I  saw  on  that  fatal  night.  You  must 
send  that  letter  to  Captain  Larcher  when  I  am  dead." 

"  Louisa,  do  you  wish  to  ruin  me  ?  " 

"I  wish  to  save  you,  Francis.  Do  not  deceive  your- 
self into  a  belief  that  the  investigation  is  at  an  end. 
Claude  may  cease  to  meddle  with  the  matter,  for  he  is 
in  love  with  Jenny,  and  will  probably  marry  her,  for 
by  this  time,  according  to  you,  he  knows  who  she  is. 
But  I  am  afraid  of  Spenser  Tait.  He  will  hunt  you 
down;  he  will  urge  Larcher  to  find  out  the  truth.  If 
it  comes  to  that,  send  them  my  account  of  the  matter. " 

"  It  will  ruin  me,"  he  said  again. 

"It  will  save  you,"  she  repeated.  "Do  not  be 
foolish,  Francis.  You  can  read  it  before  sending  it 
away. " 

"But  vou?" 

"I  shall  be  dead.  I  feel  sure  I  shall  not  live. 
Promise  me  that  if  the  worst  comes  you  will  send  that 
letter." 

"I  promise,"  he  said,  sorely  against  his  will,  "but 
it  will  not  be  sent;  you  will  live." 

"  I  don't  think  so,  Francis.  I  know  better  than  the 
doctor.  Now  kiss  me,  my  husband,  and  leave  me  to 
myself." 

He  did  so  in  silence,  and  took  up  the  dressing-case, 
whereupon  she  stopped  him.  "Let  it  be,"  she  said 
quietly;  "some  of  your  letters  are  in  it,  and  I  wish  to 
read  them.     Kiss  me  again." 


THE   TEAGEDY  OF  A    WOM.SX'S  VAKiTt.      335 


Agaim!  lie  Msst^fl  lirT.  £:i'Q  rrZ"::  c^^-UZy  ilfift  tiie  vZif^M^ 
So  qaaiet  ^amMii  seli-o&iiatLsdiiiiied  wss,  aiic  lisaiL  iD£  liad  nao 
immimig;  off  her  imtfceiBitMm.  Had  fee  ganeased  fear  faital 
resohre,  Sitttle  as  iras  tBue  IkK'e  fee  IwMre  feer,  fee  wcxmM 
snarelly  feave  starem  to  trana  feer  fooaia  feer  panrpoee. 
But  fee  gmessed  gnoitfeiiiB^  amd  llefit  feer  aJkme,  wittfe  tfee 
devil  temnptisng  hesr. 

"Goodrby,  nay  1 :  - :  1"  d!  s-i :- '  — --^  .•-.--.  '.'.'r 
dosed,  asBd  Ida ?r      _--:-■*:   -^   --       --^  ^  _      -    -    e 

wojdM  mevCT"  s  ^  -  _   r    ^  ^ 

lost  beanaty  ~     _  -  ^  i^  i.  z  -  il    -  _     -  ^ :        -  r 

He  was  oc '  _ 
bat  fee  _"  1  -  "  ;        t 
want  off  iiL     i£  t  : 
ejMSfflde„  till  it  i: 
dosed  door,  araoi  :. 
that  sicferc*'  rr:. 

She  w^ :  i  r. :  " 
took  out  <  r      -.'     ' , 
dark  fer  ~ 
twice  she  fees: :  _ :  - 1 
feer  pniirpose.     X  r,  r 
hrasfeffifflKTs  mei''  t  : 


7  ,  T.-ed  foe  lome 

: :   re  ibitcff,  (cjMsafle  afitsr 
' '  -    -'-.:_  :je  tilt  a. 


wittfe  a 


'""ice  sfee  pHi 


temtts.  tlner:  __. 
case- 


It.  Mil 


CHAPTER  XLIIL 

THE    LAST    APPEARANCE    OF    FRANCIS    HILLISTON. 

Unaware  of  the  tragedy  which  had  taken  place  at 
Eastbourne,  Captain  Larcher  was  in  London  brooding 
over  his  wrongs,  and  weaving  schemes  how  to  avenge 
himself  on  Hilliston.  His  eyes  had  been  opened  by 
Tait  with  regard  to  the  conduct  of  that  gentleman, 
and  he  now  saw  plainly  that  he  had  been  Hilliston's 
dupe  for  all  these  years.  Indeed,  he  began  to  share 
Tait's  opinion  that  the  lawyer  was  guilty,  and  was 
casting  about  in  his  own  mind  how  to  prove  this, 
when  an  announcement  in  the  papers  informed  him  of 
the  death  of  Mrs.  Hilliston. 

"  The  smallpox  killed  her,  no  doubt,"  said  Tait, 
when  he  had  expressed  his  regrets. 

*'No!"  remarked  Claude,  who  had  been  looking 
over  the  general  news.      "  It  was  a  case  of  suicide." 

"  Suicide!  "  exclaimed  the  hearers,  in  one  breath. 

"Yes,  according  to  this  paragraph.  It  appears 
that  in  some  way  or  another  she  became  possessed  of 
a  bottle  of  laudanum  while  the  nurse  was  absent.  The 
woman  returned  to  find  her  patient  dead.  Poor  Mrs. 
Hilliston!"  added  Claude,  folding  up  the  paper  with  a 
sigh.      "  How  sorry  I  am  to  hear  this." 

"I  wonder  why  she  committed  suicide  ?  "  said  Tait 
meditatively.  "  She  looked  too  determined  a  woman 
to  yield  to  such  a  weakness." 

336 


LAST  APPEARANCE  OF  FRANCIS  HILLISTON.      337 

'<  No  doubt  she  found  out  that  her  husband  was 
gui^y  of  the  crime,"  said  Larcher  grimly,  "and  so 
did   not  care  to   Hve  longer  with  a  murderer." 

"You  are  wrong,  father,"  observed  Claude,  looking 
up;  "  it  was  the  knowledge  that  she  had  lost  her  looks 
which  killed  her.  Depend  upon  it,  she  took  the  poi- 
son so  as  to  avoid  dragging  out  her  days  a  scarred  and 
miserable  object." 

"How  do  you  know  that,  Claude?"  asked  his 
father,  with  a  curious  look  on  his  face. 

"Because  not  once,  but  twice,  or  thrice,  Mrs.  Hillis- 
ton  told  me  she  would  kill  herself  rather  than  grow 
old  and  ugly.  The  loss  of  beauty  came  with  the 
smallpox;  and  so  she  has  carried  out  her  resolve." 

"  It  will  be  a  blow  to  Hilliston." 

"I  don't  think  so,"  said  Captain  Larcher  rather 
cynically.  "From  what  I  remember  of  Louisa  Sin- 
clair, the  love  was  all  on  her  side.  No  doubt  he  mar- 
ried her  when  she  was  Mrs.  Derrick  purely  for  her 
money.  No!  No!  I  quite  believe  the  story  of  Mona 
Bantry.  She  was  and  is  the  woman  of  his  love.  Now  the 
wife  is  dead  he  can  console  himself  with  the  mistress." 

"That  reminds  me,"  observed  Claude  suddenly. 
"What  are  we  to  do  about  Jenny?  Is  she  to  be 
informed  that   her  mother  is  yet  alive  ? " 

Captain  Larcher  shook  his  head.  "  Set  your  mind 
at  rest  on  that  point,"  he  said  with  a  nod.  "I  told 
Mrs.  Bezel  that  Jenny  was  about  to  become  your  wife; 
that  she  thinks  her  parents  are  dead;  and  I  pointed 
out  that  it  would  be  unwise  to  mar  the  happiness  of 
the  girl  by  letting  her  know  the  truth.  Mrs.  Bezel 
agrees  with  me,  and  she  has  consented  that  things 
shall  remain   as  they  are." 


33^  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

"  Does  she  not  want  to  see  Jenny,  father  ? " 

"  Of  course  she  does.  It  is  only  natural,  poor  |oul, 
but  she  loves  her  child  sufificiently  to  avoid  casting  a 
shadow  on  her  life.  Jenny  will  never  know  that  Jer- 
ingham  was  her  father  or  that  her  mother  is  still  alive. 
She  will  marry  you,  Claude,  as  Miss  Kennedy,  and 
know  no  more  of  her  connection  with  the  matter  than 
she  does  at  present." 

"And  Denis?" 

"  Denis  has  been  told.  I  wrote  him  two  days  ago, 
and  I  have  no  doubt  he  will  come  up  to  town  to  see 
the  last  of  his  wretched  sister." 

"The  last  of  her?" 

"Can  you  doubt  it  ?  Mrs.  Bezel  has  death  written 
on  her  face." 

"Another  blow  for  Hilliston,"  said  Tait,  in  a  rather 
regretful  tone.  Villain  as  he  knew  the  lawyer  to  be, 
he  could  not  help  feeling  sorry  for  his  troubles.  Fate 
had  held  her  hand  a  long  time,  but  now  she  was  deal- 
ing a  full  measure,  and  pouring  the  vials  of  her  wrath 
on  the  head  of  the  sinner. 

"It  will  be  a  heavier  blow  than  the  last,"  said 
Larcher,  in  a  severe  tone,  "for  there  is  no  doubt  Hil- 
liston truly  loves  Mona." 

"I  suppose  Denis  will  object  to  his  going  near  her 
again." 

"It  is  impossible  to  say.  We  must  leave  that  to 
the  man  himself." 

This  conversation  took  place  in  Tait's  rooms  one 
morning  some  three  weeks  after  the  momentous  inter- 
view with  Mrs.  Bezel.  It  had  been  Captain  Larcher's 
intention  to  return  at  once  to  Thorston,  but  he  had 
been  dissuaded   from   this  by  his  son,  who  thought  a 


LAST  A  PPEA  RA  NCE  OF  FRA  NCIS  HILL  IS  TON.      339 

few  weeks  in  town  would  do  his  father  good.  There 
was  no  doubt  on  this  point,  for  Captain  Larcher 
brisked  up  wonderfully  in  the  exhilarating  atmosphere 
of  the  West  End.  But  for  the  unexplained  mystery 
of  Jeringham's  death,  he  would  have  been  quite  happy 
in  the  recovered  society  of  his  son,  and  even  while  the 
future  was  still  black  enjoyed  himself  in  no  small 
degree.  It  did  Claude  good  to  see  that  his  father  was 
at  length  getting  some  pleasure  out  of  life,  after  his 
years  of  incessant  trouble  and  wearing  anxiety. 

The  next  day  Denis,  looking  older  and  grayer 
than  ever,  came  up  to  see  his  sister.  He  saw  his 
master  for  a  few  minutes,  and  then  went  on  to  Hamp- 
stead. 

"I  have  told  Denis  how  ill  she  is,"  explained  Cap- 
tain Larcher,  as  the  man  took  his  departure,  "and  he 
has  promised  to  be  as  lenient  as  possible  toward  her 
wrong-doing.     By  the  way,  Hilliston  is  in  town." 

"Hilliston!" 

"Yes.  He  came  up  in  the  same  train  as  Denis,  and 
had  the  impudence  to  speak  to  him.  Asked  him  where 
I  was,  as  he  wanted  to  see  me." 

"To  see  you,  father?"  cried  Claude,  in  astonish- 
ment.     "What  for?" 

"  I  think  I  can  guess,"  interposed  Tait  quietly, 
"Hilliston  has  been  stricken  by  his  wife's  death,  and 
wants  to  atone  for  his  sins  by  confessing  the  truth.  I 
would  not  be  surprised  if  he  called  here  this  after- 
noon." 

Captain  Larcher  looked  skeptical,  but  said  nothing, 
and  the  matter  dropped  for  the  time  being.  As  it 
happened  Denis  was  still  ignorant  that  his  sister  had 
been  the  mistress  of  the  lawyer,  else  there  might  have 


340  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

been  trouble.  He  had  but  a  confused  idea  of  Hillis- 
ton's  connection  with  the  case,  and,  beyond  knowing 
that  he  was  the  owner  of  the  garnet  scarf  pin,  could  not 
conceive  that  he  had  been  actually  present  in  the 
garden  when  the  murder  was  committed.  True  it  was 
that  the  scarfpin  had  been  found  on  the  spot  where 
the  corpse  of  Jeringham  had  lain,  but  assured  by  his 
master  that  Hilliston  was  innocent,  as  Captain  Larcher 
had  truly  believed  these  many  years,  Denis  never  gave 
the  matter  a  second  thought.  Now  he  would  learn 
the  truth  from  Mrs.  Bezel. 

Denis  only  came  back  in  the  afternoon,  looking  much 
put  out.  The  ruin  of  his  much  loved  sister  by  Jering- 
ham had  been  a  great  blow  to  him,  but  the  discovery 
that  she  was  alive  and  had  been  living  in  sin  with 
Hilliston  startled  him  considerably.  He  could  hardly 
reply  to  the  questions  of  his  master,  but  ultimately 
related  that  they  had  parted  friends.  Mrs.  Bezel  had 
told  him  that  the  doctor  assured  her  she  could  not  live 
much  longer;  and  in  the  shadow  of  death  Denis  had 
freely  forgiven  her  all  her  sins  and  follies. 

"And,  indeed,  sir,  what  else  could  I  do,"  said 
Denis,  wiping  the  tears  from  his  eyes,  "when  I  saw 
the  poor  thing  lying  there  like  a  corpse.?  It's  a  bitter 
time  she's  had  of  it,  these  last  ten  years,  in  that  death- 
in-life  state.  Oh  yes,  captain,  I  forgave  her  freely, 
poor  soul!  " 

"And  Hilliston?"  asked  Larcher  inquiringly. 

"May  his  black  soul  burn,"  cried  Denis,  with  a 
scowl.  "  Were  I  or  he  younger  I'd  leave  my  mark  on 
him.  Mona  had  a  letter  from  him  saying  he  was 
calling  to  see  her  this  evening,  but  that  he  had  an 
appointment  with  you,  sir. " 


LAST  APPEARANCE  OF  FRANCIS  HILLISTON.      341 

"With  me,  Denis!  It  is  the  first  I  have  heard  of  it. 
Where  is  he  ?  " 

At  this  moment,  as  if  in  response  to  his  question, 
the  door  opened  and  Tait  appeared,  looking  very  dis- 
turbed. 

"  Mr.  Hilliston  is  here,  Captain  Larcher,  and  wishes 
to  speak  with  you." 

Claude  had  entered  the  room  by  another  door,  and, 
on  hearing  this,  stepped  forward  looking  slightly  pale. 
He  slipped  his  arm  within  that  of  his  father,  as  though 
to  protect  the  elder  man.  Then  they  all  waited  to 
hear  what  Captain  Larcher  had  to  say.  The  per- 
mission for  the  interview  must  come  from  the  man 
who  had  been  most  deeply  wronged.  He  thought  for 
a  moment  or  so  with  a  frown  on  his  face,  then  sank 
into  a  chair  with  a  deep  sigh. 

"  Denis,  stand  behind  me,"  he  said,  in  a  peremptory 
tone.  "  Claude,  sit  down  yonder.  Now,  Mr.  Tait,  we 
are  ready  to  see  our  friend." 

Tait  anticipated  this  permission,  and  was  already 
prepared  for  it.  Without  a  word  he  threw  open  the 
door,  and  Hilliston,  dressed  in  deep  mourning,  entered 
the  room  with  a  paper  in  his  hand.  He  looked  pale 
and  worn,  his  fresh  color  was  gone,  and  as  he  spoke  he 
kept  his  eyes  persistently  on  the  ground.  It  could  be 
easily  seen  that  the  man  had  received  a  shock  from 
which  he  would  not  easily  recover. 

"  I  have  called  to  see  you  and  deliver  this,"  he  said, 
in  a  low  tone,  placing  the  paper  he  carried  on  the 
table.  "  I  do  not  ask  your  forgiveness,  Larcher,  for  I 
do  not  consider  I  have  done  anything  to  justify  your 
anger  against  me." 

"  You   could     have   saved    me   all   these    years   of 


342  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

anguish  by  telling  me  the  truth,"  said  Larcher 
indignantly. 

"  Perhaps !  But  it  was  not  to  my  interest  to  tell  you 
the  truth." 

"I  don't  wonder  at  that,"  said  Claude  bitterly. 
*'  You  were  afraid  of  the  law," 

*' Perhaps,"  said  Hilliston  again.  "On  the  other 
hand  I  may  not  be  so  guilty  as  you  think  me.  You 
will  find  the  truth  in  that  paper." 

He  pointed  toward  the  table,  and  the  eyes  of  all 
immediately  turned  in  that  direction,  while  Hilliston 
moved  toward  the  door. 

''  Having  fulfilled  the  promise  I  made  to  my  dead 
wife,  I  now  take  my  leave,"  he  said  quietly.  "  I  will 
never  see  any  of  you  again,  and  some  day  you  may 
learn. that  you   have  misjudged  me.     Good-by." 

He  opened  the  door,  but  before  he  could  pass 
through  Denis  sprang  forward. 

*'  My  sister  ?"  he  said,  with  an  indignant  look  in  his 
eyes. 

"  I  am  about  to  repair  the  wrong  I  did  her,"  replied 
the  lawyer  gravely.  "  By  to-morrow  she  will  be  my 
wife." 


CHAPTER   XLIV. 

THE    TRUTH. 

HiLLiSTON  came  and  went  in  the  space  of  a  few 
minutes.  None  of  those  present  made  any  attempt 
to  stay  his  exit,  but  as  the  door  closed  after  him  they 
looked  at  one  another  in  silence.  Thinking  of  Hillis- 
ton's  last  speech,  Denis  was  the  first  to  speak. 

''What  does  that  mean,  sir?"  he  asked  his  master, 
with  an  air  of  helpless  bewilderment. 

"I  think  it  can  only  mean  one  thing,  Denis," 
replied  Larcher,  rousing  himself.  "Mr.  Hilliston 
has  at  length  awakened  to  the  fact  of  his  dastardly 
treatment  of  your  sister,  and  is  about  to  make  re- 
paration for  the  past.     He  intends  to  marry  her." 

"  But  his  wife  only  died  a  few  days  ago,  master." 

"  I  know  that.  But  Mrs.  Bezel  will  also  die  shortly, 
and  if  Hilliston  desires  to  atone  for  the  past  he  has 
no  time  to  lose.  He  can  marry  her  at  once,  but  he 
will  again  be  a  widower  within  the  month." 

Denis  lifted  a  pair  of  shaking  hands,  and  slowly  left 
the  room,  followed  by  the  sympathetic  looks  of  the 
others.  He  did  not  even  pause  to  learn  the  contents 
of  the  sealed  envelope  left  by  Mr.  Hilliston.  Great 
as  was  his  curiosity  to  learn  all  that  had  taken  place 
on  that  fatal  night,  his  love  and  grief  for  his  sister 
were  greater  still.  Bowed  and  gray  and  older-looking 
than  ever,  he  departed;  but  in  his  heart  there  was  one 

343 


344  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

comfortable  thought — Mona  would  die  an  honest 
woman,  if   Mr.  Hilliston  was   to  be  believed. 

AVhen  the  three  found  themselves  alone,  Captain 
Larcher  picked  up  the  sealed  letter  with  some 
reluctance. 

** Strange,"  he  said,  balancing  it  in  his  hand.  "For 
years  I  have  been  eager  to  know  the  truth.  Now 
that  I  have  only  to  open  this  envelope  to  learn  it,  I 
feel    half   afraid." 

"Nevertheless,  it  will  be  as  well  to  lose  no  time 
in  making  ourselves  acquainted  with  the  contents," 
said  Tait  eagerly,  for  he  was  in  a  fever  of  impa- 
tience to  know  all.  "It  may  be  a  confession  by 
Hilliston." 

"  I  think  not.  It  is  directed  to  me  in  the  handwrit- 
ing of  Mrs.  Hilliston." 

"To  Ferdinand  Paynton?" 

"No.     To  Captain  Larcher." 

"H'm!"  said  Tait,  with  a  start.  "How  did  Mrs. 
Hilliston  know  you  were  Captain  Larcher?  Did  she 
see  you  at  Thorston?" 

"  No.  But  her  husband  doubtless  informed  her  of 
my  real  name.  However,  we  will  learn  all  from  this," 
said  Larcher,  breaking  the  seal.  "I  believe  this  is 
a  confession  by  Mrs.  Hilliston." 

"  But  what  can  she  have  to  confess  ? "  cried  Claude, 
as  his  father  smoothed  out  a  closely  written  letter. 
"  She  can  know  nothing  of  the  tragedy." 

"You  forget,"  said  Tait,  with  a  sudden  recollection, 
"Louisa  Sinclair;  she  was  at  Horriston,  and,  accord- 
ing to  Mona  Bantry,  was  in  the  garden  of  The 
Laurels  on  that  night.  I  would  not  be  surprised  if 
she  saw   the  committal   of  the  crime. " 


THE    TRUTH.  345 

*'What!  Do  you  think  she  is  about  to  betray  her 
husband  ?  " 

'■'■  Oh,"  said  Tait  significantly,  "we  are  by  no  means 
sure  of  Hilhston's  guilt!  " 

Larcher  found  that  the  writing  was  too  small  for  him 
to  read  comfortably,  so  handed  the  letter  to  Claude, 
with  a  request  that  he  should  read  it  out  aloud.  Excus- 
ing himself  on  the  plea  of  the  illegibility  of  the  writing, 
Claude  passed  it  to  Tait,  who  accepted  the  office  with 
avidity.  The  letter  was  without  date  or  direction,  and 
began  in  an  abrupt  manner,  highly  suggestive  of  the 
agitation  under  which  it  had  been  written.  Tait 
mentally  noted  these  points,  and  began. 

"This  confession  is  to  be  read  after  my  death  by 
Captain  George  Larcher,  and,  if  he  sees  fit,  he  has  my 
free  permission  to  make  it  public.  Still  I  trust  out  of 
regret  for  the  memory  of  an  unhappy  woman  that  he 
will  not  do  so  save  in  the  arising  of  two  contingencies. 
First,  should  he  be  still  alive,  and  accused  of  murder- 
ing Mr.  Jeringham.  Second,  should  my  dear  husband 
be  accused  of  the  crime.  In  the  event  of  the  occur- 
rence of  either  of  these  contingencies,  I  authorize  him 
to  make  these  pages  public. 

"To  explain  myself  I  must  go  back  twenty-six  years, 
when  I  was  residing  at  Horriston.  You,  Captain 
Larcher,  will  remember  me  well  as  Louisa  Sinclair,  for 
at  that  time  I  saw  a  great  deal  of  yourself  and  your 
wife.  I  saw  too  much  of  her,  for  my  eyes  were 
sharp,  and,  but  for  a  natural  reluctance  to  disturb  your 
domestic  peace,  I  could  have  enlightened  you  as  to 
her  conduct.  She  was  never  worthy  of  a  good  man 
like  you.     She  was  as  bad  as  I  afterward  became,  and 


346  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

that  is  saying  a  great  deal,  as  you  will  see  by 
reading   on. 

"I  loved  Francis  Hilliston,  your  intimate  friend. 
Belinda  Pike  loved  him  also,  but  there  was  no  need  for 
either  of  us  to  be  jealous  of  the  other,  for  Mr.  Hilliston 
loved  a  third  person;  none  other  than  your  wife.  No 
doubt  you  will  be  angry  when  you  read  this,  but  your 
anger  cannot  alter  facts.  Yes,  your  dearest  friend 
loved  your  wife.     Let  him  deny  that  if  he  can." 

At  this  point  there  was  a  marginal  note  by  Hilliston; 
*'I  do  deny  it,  and  but  that  I  am  not  in  a  position  to 
do  so  I  would  not  let  George  Larcher's  eyes  rest  on 
this  confession.  My  poor  wife  was  insanely  jealous  of 
Mrs.  Larcher,  but  I  swear  that  she  had  no  grounds  to 
be  so.  I  admired  Mrs.  Larcher  as  a  friend,  nothing 
more,  and  I  loved  Mona  Bantry.  She  is  the  only 
woman  who  has  ever  attracted  me,  and,  notwithstand- 
ing my  marriage,  now  dissolved  by  death,  she  attracts 
me  still." 

This  note  was  hastily  scribbled  in  pencil,  and  after 
Tait  had  read  it,  without  interruption  from  Captain 
Larcher,  he  continued  the  confession: 

"  I  admit  that  I  was  jealous  of  his  attentions  to  your 
wife,"  continued  Mrs.  Hilliston,  '*  for  though  I  did  all 
in  my  power  I  could  not  win  him  to  my  side.  Regard- 
ing the  efforts  of  Belinda  Pike,  I  say  nothing.  She 
tried  to  gain  his  love,  and  she  failed.  I  was  more  suc- 
cessful in  the  end,  but  not  till  the  lapse  of  many  years. 
Here  I  may  say  that  I  have  gypsy  blood  in  my  veins, 
which  at  times  renders  me  insanely  jealous,  and  in 
such  a  state  I  am  capable  of  all  things.  A  recol- 
lection of  this  may  enlighten  you  as  to  my  acting  as  I 
did  in  the  garden  of  The  Laurels. 


THE    TRUTH.  347 

"  I  knew  that  your  wife  loved  Jeringham,  and  could 
have  told  you  of  it.  I  am  sorry  I  did  not  now,  as  she 
would  have  been  disgraced,  and  then  Francis  might 
have  turned  to  me  for  consolation.  But  I  held  my 
peace,  and  paid  the  cost  of  doing  so.  I  am  doing  so 
now  ;  you  also  ;  for  if  you  had  been  forewarned  you 
would  never  have  had  to  conceal  yourself  under  a 
feigned  name  on  account  of  Jeringham's  death. 

"At  the  fancy  dress  ball  held  at  the  Town  Hall, 
matters  came  to  a  climax.  My  gypsy  blood  made  me 
mad  on  that  night,  owing  to  the  way  in  which  I  was 
neglected  by  Francis  Hilliston.  With  some  difficulty 
I  learned  that  your  wife  was  to  be  dressed  as  Mary, 
Queen  of  Scots,  and,  with  a  view  to  making  myself  at- 
tractive in  Hilliston's  eyes,  I  chose  the  same  dress. 
With  the  assistance  of  the  dressmaker  who  worked  for 
us  both,  I  obtained  a  dress  similar  in  all  respects 
to  that  of  Mrs.  Larcher,  hoping  that  by  doing  so 
he  would  speak  to  me  under  the  impression  that  I 
was  your  wife.  My  stratagem  was  successful.  I  was 
masked  and  dressed  as  she  was  ;  he  spoke  to  me, 
thinking  I  was  she,  and  I  learned  then  how  he  loved 
her.  At  that  moment  I  could  have  killed  her.  I  could 
have  killed  him." 

Here  there  was  another  note  in  Hilliston's  hand- 
writing: "Again  I  say  that  the  poor  creature  was 
mistaken.  I  did  speak  to  her  under  the  impression 
that  she  was  Mrs.  Larcher,  but  I  said  nothing  that  she 
could  construe  into  a  declaration  of  love.  Her  jeal- 
ousy rendered  her  mad,  and  she  distorted  the  idle  words 
I  spoke.      She  took  them  up  in  the  wrong  sense." 

"My  suspicions  were  confirmed  later  on,"  con- 
tinued the  confession,  "  for  I  overheard  them  talking 


348  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

together;  yes,  Francis  Hilliston  and  your  wife  were  in 
a  corner  together,  talking  of  love.  I  listened.  It  was 
mean  to  do  so;  but  then,  I  was  in  love  and  would 
have  stooped  to  any  degradation  to  have  rescued  him 
from  her  clutches.  They  talked  about  a  dagger  which 
he  had  given  her  to  complete  her  dress.  Aha!  he  did 
not  think  to  complete  my  costume  with  such  a  gift. 
Mrs.  Larcher  took  the  dagger  out  of  its  sheath  and 
together  they  examined  it.  She  blamed  him  for 
putting  an  inscription  on  it,  saying  it  would  make  her 
husband  jealous.  Francis  laughed,  and  said  that  you 
would  never  suspect  him.  Then  Mrs.  Larcher  slipped 
the  dagger  back  in  the  sheath,  as  she  thought;  but  in 
reality  it  slipped  down  among  the  folds  of  her  dress, 
and  when  she  arose  to  go  it  fell  on  the  ground.  They 
departed,  and  I  picked  up  the  dagger. 

"At  once  I  looked  at  the  inscription,  and  there  it 
was  on  the  gold  handle — 'To  J.  L.,  from  F.  H.'  I 
was  so  enraged  that  I  could  have  broken  the  dagger. 
I  tried  to,  but  it  was  too  strong  for  me.  Therefore 
I  thrust  it  into  my  waistband  and  went  in  search  of 
Hilliston  to  return  it  to  him,  and  reproach  him  for 
giving  it  to  Mrs.  Larcher.  I  saw  him,  wrapped  in  his 
cloak,  go  out  with  Mrs.  Larcher.  He  was  seeing  her 
home,  and  in  a  frenzy  of  jealous  rage  I  resolved  to 
follow." 

Margin  note  by  Hilliston:  "It  was  not  I  who  went 
home  with  Mrs.  Larcher,  but  Jeringham.  I  was 
dressed  that  evening  as  a  Venetian  senator,  and  wore 
a  long  black  cloak.  This  Jeringham  borrowed  from  me 
to  conceal  his  fancy  dress  when  he  left  the  Town  Hall. 
My  wife  thought  it  was  me,  but  she  was  mistaken.  I 
went  home  with  George  Larcher,  as  he  knows." 


THE    TRUTH.  '  349 

The  confession  continues:  "They  left  in  Mrs. 
Larcher's  carriage,  and  I,  hastily  wrapping  a  cloak 
round  me,  followed  in  a  fly.  When  I  got  to  The 
Laurels  they  were  talking  together  at  the  door,  and 
the  carriage  had  driven  round  to  the  stables.  I  sat 
back  in  my  fly,  for  the  driver  did  not  know  who  I  was, 
and  watched.  I  saw  Mrs.  Larcher  kiss  Hilliston  and 
run  inside.  Then  I  went  out  of  my  mind — I  was  pos- 
sessed by  a  devil.  He  came  down  the  path  and  turned 
midway  to  look  back  at  the  house.  I  had  my  hand 
on  the  dagger — it  tempted  me,  and  I  sprang  out  on 
him.  He  turned  sharply  round,  and  had  I  not  been 
blinded  with  rage  I  would  have  then  recognized  him. 
But  I  hardly  knew  what  I  was  doing,  and,  before  he 
could  utter  a  word,  I  buried  the  dagger  in  his  heart, 
when  he  fell  with  a  choking  cry.  I  knelt  down  beside 
him,  and  withdrew  the  dagger.  Then  I  heard  a  sound, 
dropped  the  weapon,  and  fled. 

"Some  little  distance  off  I  ran  into  the  arms  of 
Francis  Hilliston.  I  shrieked  as  though  I  had  seen  a 
ghost,  and  told  him  I  had  killed  a  man — that  I  had 
intended  to  kill  him.  He  explained  the  mistake  of  the 
cloak,  and  said  I  must  have  murdered  Jeringham. 
Then  he  saved  my  life.  No  one  had  seen  me  come  to 
The  Laurels,  no  one  had  seen  me  in  the  garden;  so 
Francis  took  me  back  to  Horriston,  and  I  returned  to 
the  ball  without  anyone  having  suspected  my  absence. 

"The  next  day  the  news  of  the  disappearance  of 
Jeringham  was  all  over  the  town;  afterward  the  body 
was  discovered  down  the  river,  and  mistaken  for  that 
of  Mr.  Larcher.  Francis  advised  me  for  my  own  sake 
to  hold  my  tongue.  I  did  so,  and  shortly  afterward  1 
went  on  a  visit  to  a  sister  of  mine  in  America.     Francis 


35°  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

refused  to  marry  me  on  account  of  my  crime.  In 
America  I  married  Derrick,  the  millionaire;  he  died, 
and  I  returned  to  London.  I  found  Francis  greatly  in 
want  of  money,  and  as  I  still  loved  him,  I  married  him. 
No  one  but  us  two  knew  who  really  killed  Jeringham, 
but  for  your  sake.  Captain  Larcher,  I  acknowledge  my 
guilt  lest  you  should  be  found  out  and  accused  of  the 
crime.  I  could  say  much  more,  but  this  is  enough. 
When  you  read  this  I  will  be  dead,  and  my  last  words 
I  swear  are  true.  I  and  none  other  killed  Mark  Jering- 
ham in  mistake  for  Francis  Hilliston." 

Note  by  Hilliston:  "It  will  be  seen  that  my  wife 
was  actuated  all  through  by  jealousy,  but  I  swear  she 
had  no  reason.  I  loved  Mona,  not  Mrs.  Larcher,  nor 
her.  I  saved  her  life  because  she  committed  the  crime 
for  my  sake;  I  married  her  because  I  was  on  the  verge 
of  pecuniary  ruin.  I  have  nothing  more  to  add.  You 
can  blame  me  if  you  like,  but  I  consider  I  have  acted 
all  through  as  I  was  forced  by  circumstances." 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

A    FEW    WORDS    BY    SPENSER    TAIT. 

When  the  case  has  been  stated,  when  the  witnesses 
for  and  against  have  given  their  evidence,  when  the 
counsel  on  both  sides  have  delivered  their  speeches,  it 
is  then  customary  for  the  judge  to  sum  up  the  entire 
matter  for  the  direction  of  the  jury.  In  this  instance 
I  am  the  judge,  and  here  is  the  Larcher  affair  summed 
up  for  the  understanding  of  the  public.  It  has  fallen 
to  my  share  to  wind  up  the  story,  so  here  I  set  down 
such  results  as  happened  from  the  confession  of  Mrs. 
Hilliston. 

The  immediate  result  of  her  death  was  the  marriage 
of  the  widower  to  Mrs.  Bezel,  which  took  place,  so  to 
speak,  when  the  latter  was  on  her  deathbed.  She 
lingered  out  another  two  months,  and  died  in  the  arms 
of  her  husband,  at  peace  with  all  the  world.  Denis 
heartily  forgave  her,  and  the  only  bitter  drop  in  her 
cup  was  the  absence  of  her  child.  Yet  when  Captain 
Larcher  suggested  that  Jenny  should  be  told  the  truth, 
and  brought  to  say  good-by  to  her  mother,  Mrs.  Bezel, 
with  a  self-denial  for  which  I  hardly  gave  her  credit, 
refused  to  permit  such  a  thing.  She  thought  that 
Jenny  would  be  happier  if  she  was  ignorant  of  the 
truth,  and  moreover,  Mrs.  Bezel  shrank  from  letting 
her  child  know  how  she  had  lived  during  these  many 
years.     At  all  events   Jenny  never  learned  the  truth, 

351 


352  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

and  Mrs.  Bezel  died  without  seeing  her  daughter. 
That  she  forgave  Hilliston  for  having  deprived  her  of 
the  child  is,  I  think,  a  proof  of  her  goodness  of  heart, 
for  there  is  no  doubt  that  he  acted  selfishly  and  cruelly 
in  doing  so.  But  enough  of  Mrs.  Bezel,  her  faults 
and  virtues.  She  lies  in  Hampstead  Cemetery  under 
a  plain  stone  of  rose-colored  granite,  inscribed  **To 
the  memory  of  Mona  Hilliston."  So  she  had  her  wish 
at  last,  and  died  an  honest  woman. 

Captain  Larcher  returned  with  Kerry  to  the  cottage 
in  Nightingale  Lane,  as  he  could  not  make  up  his  mind 
to  resume  his  own  name,  or  tear  himself  away  from 
the  bookworm  life  of  twenty-five  years.  No  one  knew 
the  truth  save  Claude,  Jenny,  and  myself,  for  Hillis- 
ton being  absent  from  England  does  not  count.  The 
vicar  was  also  enlightened  on  the  subject,  and  ex- 
pressed much  astonishment  at  the  strange  series  of 
events  which  had  culminated  in  the  death  and  con- 
fession of  Mrs.  Hilliston.  Unwilling  to  lose  his  old 
crony  he  heartily  approved  of  Larcher's  determination 
to  resume  his  usual  life,  and  so  the  matter  was  settled. 
Captain  Larcher  will  remain  Mr.  Ferdinand  Paynton 
to  the  end  of  his  days,  and  will  still  be  a  mystery  to 
the  gossips  of  Thorston;  how  great  a  one  they  can 
never  guess. 

But  a  notable  change  has  taken  place  in  his  habits. 
He  is  no  longer  a  recluse,  a  misanthrope.  When  I  am 
at  the  Manor  House  he  visits  me  there;  he  is  a  con- 
stant guest  at  the  vicarage,  and  may  be  seen  frequently 
fishing  beside  Kerry  on  the  banks  of  the  Lax.  Follow- 
ing the  example  of  his  master,  Denis  Bantry  also 
renounced  his  name,  which  he  superstitiously  regarded 
as  one  of  ill-omen,  and  called   himself  Kerry  for  the 


A   FEW   IVORDS  BY  SPENSER    TAIT.  353 

rest  of  his  life.  If  he  was  grieved  for  his  unhappy 
sister,  her  life  and  her  death,  he  finds  consolation  in 
the  society  of  Mrs.  Claude  Larcher,  who  conducts  her- 
self toward  him  as  a  niece  should  do.  But  the  relation- 
ship is  not  known  beyond  the  walls  of  Rose  Cottage, 
lest  it  might  lead  to  inquiries,  and  Jenny  is  still  known 
as  the  daughter  of  Mr.  Paynton. 

That  Claude  should  call  Mr.  Paynton  "father"  is  of 
course  only  regarded  as  natural  by  the  village.  Has 
he  not  married  Jenny,  and  does  he  not  stand  in  the 
relation  of  a  son  to  the  old  man  ?  Thorston  gossips 
think  he  is  a  most  perfect  son-in-law,  and  never  guess 
that  any  nearer  relationship  exists  between  them. 

Of  course  Jenny  and  Claude  were  married  as  speedily 
as  possible,  and  I  do  not  know  a  happier  couple.  Mrs. 
Larcher  has  quite  converted  me  with  regard  to  the  fair 
sex,  and  plumes  herself  on  her  victory.  She  has  the 
audacity  to  say  that  she  will  yet  succeed  in  getting  me 
married,  but  I  think  that  is  beyond  her  powers.  Mr. 
Linton  married  them,  and  they  spent  their  honeymoon 
at  the  Manor  House,  which  I  lent  them  for  the  occasion. 
Indeed,  while  at  Thorston  they  invariably  liVe  with 
me,  and  I  should  be  offended  did  they  take  up  their 
quarters  anywhere  else.  Not  that  they  have  any  desire 
to  do  so,  for  Rose  Cottage  is  rather  small,  and,  besides, 
the  Manor  is  within  easy  distance  of  it,  so  that  Jenny 
can  see  her  father — or,  rather,  her  father-in-law — as 
often  as  she  chooses. 

Claude  still  goes  to  different  parts  of  the  world  to 
build  bridges  and  construct  railways.  Sometimes  his 
wife  goes  with  him,  but  she  does  not  like  to  be  so  long 
away  from  Thorston.  Paynton  is  now  an  old  man, 
and  cannot   live  long,  so   Mrs.  Larcher  wishes  to  be 


354  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

near  him  as  much  as  possible.  Besides,  the  cares  of 
the  nursery  take  up  her  attention,  so  I  think  that  in  a 
few  months  Claude  will  settle  down  to  business  in 
London,  and  make  his  home  at  Thorston,  as  he  always 
intended  to  do.  There  is  a  pleasant  little  place  not 
far  from  the  Manor  which  I  have  been  commissioned 
to  buy  for  him,  so  I  really  think  that  next  year  Claude 
and  Jenny  will  take  up  their  residence  among  us. 

The  only  person  who  disapproved  of  the  marriage 
was  Frank  Linton,  who  accused  Jenny  of  jilting  him. 
This  was  utter  nonsense,  as  she  never  had  any  inten- 
tion of  becoming  his  wife.  However,  the  author  con- 
siders himself  badly  treated,  and  has  taken  up  his 
quarters  in  London,  where  he  writes  books,  and  poses 
in  Chelsea  circles.  But  I  do  not  think  he  will  ever 
write  so  excellent  a  book  as  "  A  Whim  of  Fate,"  per- 
haps because  Mrs.  Claude  Larcher  refuses  to  tell  him 
any  more  plots.  She  has  a  good  reason  for  so  doing, 
as  the  troubles  which  arose  out  of  her  finding  the 
murder  papers  in  the  garret  of  Rose  Cottage  have 
startled  her  in  no  small  degree.  Still,  as  I  tell  her, 
she  must  look  on  such  troubles  as  a  blessing  in  dis- 
guise, for,  after  all,  they  led  to  her  marriage  and 
present  happiness.  But  Mrs.  Claude  does  not  see  the 
matter  in  so  amiable  a  light. 

Finally,  Hilliston!  It  is  hard  to  say  what  has  be- 
come of  that  gentleman.  After  the  death  of  his 
second  wife,  he  withdrew  from  business  and  went 
abroad.  There  I  believe  he  is  still,  and  from  what  I 
hear  of  him  at  odd  times  he  seems  to  have  developed 
into  a  kind  of  Wandering  Jew.  France,  Italy, 
Austria,  Germany,  Russia,  he  has  seen  all  these  places, 
and  is  constantly  traveling  about,  no  doubt  trying  to 


A   FEW    WORDS  BY  SPENSER    TAIT.  355 

live  down  the  past.     Whether  he  will  succeed  in  doing 
so  it  is  hard  to  say. 

After  some  consideration  I  have  come  to  the  con- 
clusion that  we  have  been  rather  hard  on  Hilliston. 
He  did  not  love  Mrs.  Larcher,  in  spite  of  his  wife's 
insane  jealousy  on  the  point,  and  I  believe  he  was  sin- 
cerely attached  to  Mona  Bantry.  The  blot  on  his 
character  is  that  he  did  not  marry  her  when  she  first 
came  to  London,  and  seeing  that  he  was  in  love  with 
her,  I  profess  my  inability  to  explain  why  he  did  not 
do  so.  Perhaps  it  was  on  account  of  her  low  birth,  or 
the  circumstances  which  connected  her  witli  Jering- 
ham,  but  at  all  events  he  did  not  marry  her  till  it  was 
too  late  for  the  poor  creature's  happiness.  Otherwise 
I  do  not  see  how  he  could  have  acted  differently. 
Louisa  Sinclair  was  guilty  of  the  murder,  but  as  she 
did  it  on  his  account,  and  was  wildly  in  love  with  hi>m, 
it  was  to  his  honor  that  he  protected  her  as  he  did. 
Whether  he  would  have  told  the  truth  had  ]\Irs. 
Larcher  been  convicted  I  do  not  know,  but  as  Louisa 
Sinclair  did  not  leave  for  America  till  Mrs.  Larcher 
was  released,  I  think  Hilliston  would  have  persuaded 
her  to  confess  openly  in  the  event  of  a  conviction. 

It  is  true  that  he  married  her  for  her  money,  but  I 
think  he  was  touched  by  her  devotion,  and  gave  her 
some  love.  No  doubt  it  was  Mrs.  Hilliston's  remorse 
for  condemning  his  father  to  lifelong  seclusion  that 
made  her  so  kind  to  Claude  when  he  was  a  lad.  Now 
it  is  easy  to  see  why  Hilliston  was  reluctant  that 
Claude  and  I  should  investigate  the  case.  He  was 
afraid  lest  the  truth  should  be  found  out,  and  his  wife 
arrested.  I  was  wrong  in  my  surmise.  Hilliston  was 
not  afraid   for  himself,    but    for  the  unhappy  woman 


35 6  THE    THIRD    VOLUME. 

who  had  killed  Jeringham  in  mistake  for  him.  The 
whole  mystery  would  have  been  solved  years  ago  had 
Dicky  Pental  spoken  out  as  he  should  have  done. 
But  the  fear  of  being  shut  up  in  an  asylum  closed  his 
mouth,  and  so  the  case  was  at  a  standstill  for  five-and- 
twenty  long  years. 

It  was  strange  that  Jenny,  who  set  the  ball  rolling, 
should  have  been  the  indirect  means  of  avenging  her 
father's  murder — or  rather  of  solving  the  mystery 
which  concealed  it.  Had  she  not  discovered  those 
papers  in  the  garret,  she  would  not  have  been  able  to 
give  Frank  Linton  the  plot  of  "A  Whim  of  Fate." 
Had  that  novel  not  been  written  and  published,  Mrs. 
Bezel  would  not  have  read  it,  and  thereby  have  been 
induced  to  write  to  Claude.  Had  she  not  done  so, 
Hilliston  would  not  have  told  Claude  the  truth,  thence 
we  would  not  have  taken  up  the  investigation  and 
solved  the  mystery.  It  was  Jenny  who  was  respon- 
sible for  the  whole.  After  five-and-twenty  years  the 
child  of  the  murdered  man  unconsciously  enlightened 
us  as  to  the  person  who  had  slain  him.  Fate  works  in 
strange  ways. 

But  I  do  not  wish  to  figure  further  as  a  detective. 
This  one  experience  has  been  quite  enough  for  me. 
The  thought,  the  anguish,  the  trouble  is  too  worrying. 
The  next  criminal  case  in  the  Larcher  family  can  look 
after  itself.  I  abandon  the  role  of  detective,  and  thus 
put  the  last  word  to  my  only  criminal  case. 


THE    END. 


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The  Angular  Stone 75  50 

Bazin,  RenI     a  Blot  of  Ink 75  5° 

Beckett,  C.  H.     Who  is  John  Noman  ?. 75  50 

Bethune,  J.  G.     The  Third  Man 75  50 

BiERCE,  Ambrose.     Can  Such  Things  Be  ? 75  50 

Braddon,  M.  E.     All  Along  the  River i  00 

Brehet,  Alfred.      Bras  d'Acier 75  50 

Bryce,  Lloyd.     Friends  in  Exile i  00 

Buchanan,  Robert.     The  Wedding  Ring 75    ,      50 

Clifford,  Mrs.  W.  K.     A  Wild  Proxy 100 


BazAn 


2  NOVELS    AND    T h.l.^S— Continued. 

Cloth        l-aper 

Cobb,  Jr.,  Sylvanus.    Bion,  the  Wanderer $o  75     $0  50 

Gunmaker  of  Moscow 75  50 

Karmel,  the  Scout 75  50 

Orion,  the  Goldbeater 75  50 

Painter  of  Parma 75  50 

Smuggler  of  King's  Cove 75  50 

Daudet,  Alphonse.      Rose  and  Ninette 75  50 

Dale,  Darley.     Lottie's  Wooing i  00 

Dane,  Daniel.     Vengeance  is  Mine i  00  50 

Debans,  Camille.     Gabriel's  Vocation 75  50 

Eliot,  Annie.     An  Hour's  Promise 75  50 

Farjeon,  B.  L.     a  Fair  Jewess i  00 

The  Last  Tenant i  00 

Fawcett,  Edgar.      A  New  York  P'amily i  CO  50 

Fenn,  G.  Manville.     Commodore  Junk 75  50 

"  Nurse  Elisia I  00 

"  Witness  to  the  Deed r  00 

Feuillet,  Octave.     An  Artist's  Honor 75  50 

Flammarion,  Camille.     Lumen 75  50 

Uranie 75  5° 

Floyd,  Isobel  Henderson.      Stolen  America 75  50 

Francke,  Paul  M.     A  Blot  of  Ink 75  5° 

Gautier,  Theophile.     Juancho  the  Bull-Fighter 75  50 

Gordon,  Julien.     His  Letters i  00 

"                    Marionettes 100  50 

Grand,  Sarah.     The  Heavenly  Twins i  00 

Gr^ville,  Mme.  Henri.     A  Mystery 75  50 

Grigorovitch,  DiMiTRY.     The  Cruel  City 75  50 

Hake,  Thos.  St.  E.     Within  Sound  of  the  Weir 75  50 

Hale,  Edward  Everett.     A  New  England  Boyhood  i  00 

"  "  East  and  West I  00 

"  Sybil  Knox I  00 

Hannan,  Charles,     A  Swallow's  Wing 75  50 

Harben,  W.  N.     White  Marie 75  50 

Harland,  Henry.     As  it  was  Written i  00  50 

"                     Grandison  Mather i  25  50 

"                     Latin-Quarter  Courtship 75  5° 

"                     Mrs.  Peixada I  00  50 

♦'  The  Two  Voices 50 

"  Two  Women  or  One  ? 75 

••                     Yoke  of  the  Thorah i  00  50 

Harland,  IJarion.     Mr.  Wayt's  Wife's  Sister i  00 

Harris,  A.  L.     The  Fatal  Request 75  5° 

Harrison,  Mrs.  Burton.     A  Daughter  of  the  South.   100 

"                          Flower  de  Hundred i  00  50 

"                          The  Anglomaniacs i  00  50 

Hatton,  Joseph.     Under  the  Great  Seal i  00 


NOVELS   AND   TALES— Continued.  3 

Cloth        Papei 

Hawthorne,  Julian.     John  Parmelee's  Curse $0  75     $0  50 

Hope,  Anthony.     Father  Stafford 75  50 

HORNUNG,  E.     Tiny  Luttrell i  00 

Hudson,  W.  C.     Jack  Gordon,  Knight-Errant 75  50 

On  the  Rack 75  50 

•'                  The  Diamond  Button 75  50 

"                  The  Dugdale  Millions 75  50 

"                  The  Man  with  a  Thumb 75  50 

Vivier 75  50 

IncA-Pancha-Ozollo,     The  Lost  Inca 75  50 

JOKAi,  Maurus.      Dr.  Dumany's  Wife 75  50 

"                   Pretty  Michal 75  50 

Keeling,  Elsa  D'Esterre.      Orchardscroft i  00 

Keenan,  Henry  F.     Trajan i  50  50 

Keith,  Leslie.     'Lisbeth i  00 

I>A  Forest,  Debut.      Renee  and  Colette 75  50 

Landon,  Melville  D.     Thirty  Years  of  Wit,  etc. ...  i  50  50 

Lathrop,  Geo.  Parsons.     Two  Sides  of  a  Story 75  50 

LemaItre,  Jules.     Prince  Hermann,  Regent 75  50 

Le  Queux,  Wm.     Strange  Tales  of  a  Nihilist 75  50 

LoTi,  Pierre.     The  Book  of  Pity  and  of  Death 75  50 

"                Jean  Berny,  Sailor i  00 

Mairet,  Mme.  Jeanne.     An  Artist 75  50 

Mallock,  W.  H.     a  Human  Document 75  50 

Marry  AT,  Florence.     Parson  Jones i  00 

Mary,  Jules.     The  Shadow  of  Roger  Laroque 75  50 

McClelland,  M.  G.     Burkett's  Lock 75  50 

McClelland,  M.  G.     Madame  Silva 75  50 

McDougall,  W.  H.     The  Hidden  City 75  50 

Meade,  L.  T.     Out  of  the  Fashion i  00 

"                The  Medicine  Lady i  00 

Meredith,  Wm.  T.     Not  of  Her  Father's  Race 75  50 

MiTFORD,  Bertrand.     'Tween  Snow  and  Fire 75  50 

Molesworth,  Mrs.     Leona i  00 

Montague,  C.  FL,  and  C.  W.  Dyar.     Written  in  Red  75  50 

Moore,  Frank  F.     I  Forbid  the  Banns i  00 

Mouriot,  Mlle.  V.     Madame  Rosely i  00 

Ohnet,  Georges.     A  Debt  of  Hatred 75  50 

"                     Nimrod  &  Co 75  50 

"                     The  Soul  of  Pierre 75  50 

Page,  Anna  Dyer.     An  Artist 75  50 

"               "         A  Mystery 75  50 

Parr,  Mrs.     The  Squire i  00  50 

Potapeeko,  N.  E.     a  Russian  Priest . .  75  50 

"                      The  General's  Daughter 75  50 

Quiller-Couch,  a.  T.  ("Q").     A  Blot  of  Lik 75  50 

"                     "                      Blue  Pavilions 75  50 


4  NOVELS   AND   TALES— Continued. 

Cloth  Paper 
QUILLER-COUCH,  A.  T.  ("  Q").  Dead  Man's  Rock.  .$o  75  $0  50 
"  •♦  I  Saw  Three  Ships..  75  50 
"  "  Noughts  and  Crosses  75  50 
"  "  The  Splendid  Spur. .  75  50 
"  "  The  Astonishing  His- 
tory of  Troy  Town       75  50 

QuiGG,  L.  E.     Tin  Types i  50  50 

RiCKETT,  J.  CoMPTON.     The  Quickening  of  Caliban. .    i  00 

RiCHEBouRG,  Emile.      Old  Raclot's  Million 75  50 

Roberts,  Morley.     Mate  of  the  Vancouver 75  50 

Russell,  W.  Clark.     List,  Ye  Landsmen.. . . .' i  00 

"  Romance  of  a  Transport i  00 

"  The  Emigrant  Ship i  00 

Sacher-Masoch,  L.  von.     The  New  Job 75  50 

Sale,  Pierre.     The  Price  of  a  Coronet 75  50 

Shapcott,  Reuben.     Auto,  of  Mark  Rutherford i  00 

"  Mark  Rutherford's  Deliverance.   I  00 

"  Revolution  in  Tanner's  Lane. . .    i  00 

Sherard,  R.  H.     By  Right,  Not  Law 75  50 

Souvestre,  6mile.     Man  and  Money 75  50 

Spencer,  Mrs.  G.  E.     A  Plucky  One 75  50 

Sterne,  Stuart.     The  Story  of  Two  Lives 75  50 

Stoddard,  Elizabeth,     Two  Men 75  50 

"                         Temple  House 75  50 

"                           The  Morgesons 75  50 

Stretton,  Hesba.     Half-Brothers i  00 

Sylva,  Carmen.     Edleen  Vaughan 75 

Thomas,  Annie.     Utterly  Mistaken i  00 

Thompson,  Maurice.     At  Love's  Extremes 75  50 

"                       A  Banker  of  Bankersville. . . .       75  50 

Tompkins,  E.  S.  De  G.     An  Honest  Hypocrite 75  50 

Valdes,  A.  P.     Faith 75  50 

Valentine,  Jane.     Time's  Scythe 75       '    50 

Van  Zile,  Edward  S.     Last  of  the  Van  Slacks 75  50 

Don   Miguel,  etc 75  50 

Verne,  Jules.     Ccesar  Cascabel i  00  50 

"                 Mistress  Branican i  00  50 

Walworth,  Mrs.  J.  H.     Baldy's  Point 75  50 

"                      "             Bar  Sinister 75  50 

"                      "             New  Man  at  Rossmere 75  50 

'■                      "            Without  Blemish 75  50 

Weyman,  S.  J.     Story  of  Francis  Cludde i  00  50 

"  The  Man  in  Black i  00 

Woolf,  Philip,  M.  D.     Who  is  Guilty? 75  50 

Wood,  ,  J.   S.     An  Old  Beau i  00 

Zola,  Emile.     Doctor  Pascal . .   i  00  50 

"               The  Downfall 150  50 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
Los  Angeles 

This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


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